
i • 







SIX MONTHS 



March— August 
1914 



CLARE BENEDICT 







First Edition Sept. 12, 1914 

Second Edition Sept. 26, 1914 

Third Edition Oct. 24, 1914 

Fourth Edition Nov. 14, 1914 

Fifth Edition Dec. 12, 1914 

Sixth Edition April 1, 1915 

Seventh Edition April 15, 1915 



Copyright 

1914 

Clare Benedict 






^' 



<y- 



SIX iMONTHS 

TJ AVING been travellers— not to say explor- 
. 6^s— all our lives, my mother and I decided to 
visit Dalmatia, Montenegro and Bosnia during the 
months of March and April. We were— as was 
our custom at that season— passing a few weeks 
in Venice before proceeding northward. We oc- 
cupied a splendid fourth-floor room at the Hotel 
de 1 'Europe— the very room in which Verdi con- 
ceived and wrote the fourth act of Rigoletto. The 
sight of the raging sea in the basin of St. Mark is 
said to have inspired the Italian composer, just as 
the calmer aspects of the same incomparable scene 
must have aided, if not inspired, the great German 
to write the unsurpassed love music of Tristan 
and Isolde in a second-floor apartment of this 
same hotel. 

We, too, witnessed a storm from Verdi's win- 
dows, which command an uninterrupted pros- 
pect extending from the Public Gardens to the 
Salute. During the storm, which lasted for three 
days, we sat in our wonderful sky parlour and 
read The Count of Monte-Cristo, talking be- 
tweenwhiles of Dalmatia and planning for it with 
our good friends. Cook and Son. Finally, in spite 
of considerable discouragement, great difficulties 
and some misgivings, we embarked on the tour 
which was to begin at Venice and end at Vienna, 



and to include glimpses of Istria, Dalmatia, 
Montenegro, Bosnia, Herzegovina and Hungary. 

Venice, which had been adorable in December 
and quite possible in the Carnival, was now re- 
assuming her tourist guise and was fast becom- 
ing unrecognizable; we were glad to leave her in 
the hope of finding her again in Dalmatia. 

Our first day's journey was uneventful as was 
our night at Trieste. We recalled a former stop 
there years before when we had been fascinated 
to watch the strange foreign craft loading and 
unloading in front of our windows, a long, narrow 
board invariably serving as gangway, up and 
down which sailors, merchants and dogs continu- 
ally passed and repassed. Today, things are less 
picturesque, though the harbour with its encirc- 
ling heights is always impressive. 

The journey to Pola was extremely striking, 
the railway line traversed a bleak Karst region, 
the inhabitants of which look almost as wild as 
their own fantastic rocks. At one station we saw 
some young men under arrest. "Notorious ban- 
dits" our guard informed us. This was our first 
taste of what was to come. 

At Pola we revelled in the great Roman re- 
mains — the Arena, the various gates, the beautiful 
Temple of Augustus; we admired also the fine 
modern Austrian naval station ; the monument to 
the Emperor Maximilian of Mexico had a pathetic 
interest of its own. 



An Austrian Lloyd steamer carried us from 
Pola to Cattaro, the southernmost point of our 
sea journey — a wonderful trip, which ought to 
have been all accomplished by daylight, though 
the moon made the evening quite magical. We 
stayed on deck until past midnight, watching the 
steamer thread her way carefully through the nar- 
row channel, between fairy-like islands and dim, 
exquisite coast — it was a dream of enchantment. 

In the morning, we noticed in the bow of the 
boat a motley crowd of passengers, who must have 
joined the ship during the night. Some were 
Montenegrins in national dress, others were Al- 
banians and Dalmatians, likewise gayly attired, 
and all wearing the characteristic caps of their 
respective countries. We made several stops, de- 
livering immense numbers of parcels — boatloads 
full of what seemed to be small paper packages. 
Sometimes the steamer would go up to the dock, 
sometimes small boats would be sent out — and 
everywhere there was the same brilliancy of col- 
our, everywhere the same incredible wealth of 
racial types and national costumes. 

When we entered the double-starred Bocche di 
Cattaro, the climax of our voyage was un- 
doubtedly reached. Our sail through the three 
magnificent basins of the bay was one long vision 
of beauty, which could scarcely be equalled even 
in Norway. 

On reaching Cattaro, we found our carriage 



waiting for us, and after a hurried lunclieon at the 
quaint little hotel Stadt Gratz, we proceeded at 
once up the endless zigzags of the famous military 
road to Cetinje. 

This drive, which is one of the finest — if not the 
finest — mountain drive in Europe, excited in us 
continual, delighted wonder — this was really worth 
while, worth all the hardships that we might 
have to endure. For the first third of the way, we 
could see the exquisite bay of Cattaro, further and 
further beneath us, like a Norwegian fjord in 
miniature. When we passed the last Austrian 
fort, the officers came out and saluted us courte- 
ously. For an instant we felt like turning back, 
it seemed as if we were bidding farewell to civil- 
ization. 

The road became rougher, the rocks more bleak, 
the landscape, utterly barren and tragically un- 
friendly. There was no vegetation anywhere — 
nothing but grey rocks rising up on all sides in 
apparent inaccessibility. Strange figures sud- 
denly appeared from foot-paths or rather trails — 
they were all going in our direction — we learned 
afterward that they were bound for Cetinje to at- 
tend the weekly market there on the following 
morning. The men were tall and splendidly pro- 
portioned, the young women were extraordinarily 
handsome ; both men and women, indeed, had the 
loveliest eyes and the sweetest mouths — anglic 



faces, which did not at all harmonize with their 
surroundings. Every one wore the picturesque 
national dress, and this, doubtless, heightened 
their good looks ; still, for sheer beauty the Monte- 
negrins can scarcely be matched, in our opinion. 

At the boundary between Austria and Monte- 
negro or rather at some little distance beyond it, 
we made a pause to rest the horses. As I have said, 
my mother and I had been for years inveterate 
wanderers, and in the course of our wanderings 
we had seen many strange hostelries, but never 
had we seen a stranger one than that of Njegus! 
We entered the small refreshment room and or- 
dered coffee of the landlord, who, like all his 
countrymen, had the countenance of an angel. 
Presently, we became aware that a dark man car- 
rying a gun and dressed in what looked like skins, 
was observing us attentively from across the little 
room. 

I went out on the steps in order to see what I 
could of the locality, whereupon the dark man, 
who must have followed me, suddenly accosted me 
from behind in broken German. I soon discov- 
ered that he was King Nikita's customhouse of- 
ficer. He asked me if we were English and upon 
my assenting — for I knew that all English-speak- 
ing peoples would be one to him — he made me an 
elaborate bow, remarking that all English travel- 
lers were welcome to Montenegro, nor did he so 



much as glance at our small luggage, which was 
carefully packed in our carriage. As long as I 
live, I shall never forget that dark official or the 
angelic-faced landlord in that rockbound frontier 
hamlet ! 

When we resumed our journey, it was nearly 
half past four and we had another mountain to 
cross before reaching Cetinje, which lies in an 
elevated valley. Trusting that darkness would 
not fall until the ascent, at least, had been accomp- 
lished, we urged our driver to make haste. This 
individual was a young man of charming appear- 
ance, who spoke a little Italian and (we suspected) 
German as well, but he preferred Croatian, which 
was awkward for us; nevertheless, we managed 
with the help of gestures to make ourselves fairly 
well understood. 

This last part of the drive was intensely wild 
and interesting ; in the hollows of what looked like 
craters of extinct volcanoes, we saw round patches 
of cultivation ; except for these the region was one 
mass of grey rocks, as the shadows deepened, how- 
ever, they soon appeared quite black. 

We thought involuntarily of ancient tales of 
robber bands and wondered that we had had the 
courage to enter the fierce little kingdom, a land 
whose war records exceed all others in glory, ac- 
cording to Mr. Gladstone, and now, for the first 
time, do we understand his meaning. The odds 

8 



against which Montenegro has had to fight are so 
extremely heavy — a cruel climate, a sterile soil, 
poverty-stricken inhabitants — that her success in 
maintaining independence first against Turkey 
and afterwards against Servia and Austria, is in- 
deed remarkable, not to say admirable. On the 
other hand, we had heard recently from excellent 
English authority that all Montenegrins were 
thieves and scoundrels ! 

At the crest of the mountain which divides this 
border country from the valley of Cetinje, we be- 
held all at once a blaze of light far beneath us. In 
answer to our surprised exclamation, our driver 
informed us proudly that the King had had elec- 
tric light installed in his capital. The incongru- 
ity was both disappointing and reassuring; we 
descended the uneven road with disquieting 
rapidity and entered the town just as darkness 
fell completely. 

The hotel, which had evidently seen better days, 
was now extremely decrepit, to say the least; for 
instance, a mouse met us on the front stairs and 
the stove pipe in our bedroom promptly fell out, 
while the welcoming fire was burning merrily! 
The Swiss landlord was most attentive, however, 
and the food was not bad ; moreover the company 
was both striking and varied. 

When we entered the shabby dining-room that 
night, we saw three large tables, two of which 



were empty, but upon our attempting to seat our- 
selves at one of them, we were informed by the im- 
posing native headwaiter, who resembled a digni- 
fied, retired general, that those two tables were re- 
served for the diplomats and the high military au- 
thorities. We therefore took our places at the 
third table, where we found a cosmopolitan com- 
pany already assembled. There were English 
people, Americans, Germans, Austrians, Swiss and 
Italians, as well as a large party of Montenegrin 
men with one beautiful young woman, about whom 
we could learn nothing definite. Presently, the 
diplomats made their appearance, rather a rough 
set, we thought, of whom the Russian — a prince — 
seemed to be decidedly the chief. He ordered 
every one about with great assurance, which, at 
breakfast next morning became undisguised arro- 
gance. We learned subsequently that it was very 
difficult to induce any one to accept the Cetinje 
post. No married diplomat ever remained longer 
than a few months, as the harsh climate, the re- 
mote situation, the lack of society, not to mention 
the insecurity, always frightened away the 
ladies, so that bachelors only were now accredited 
to the court of King Nikita. 

Looking out of our windows that evening, we 
noticed many young men patrolling the broad, 
straight street, two and two, seemingly engaged 
in earnest talk. This walk continued with almost 



10 



uncanny regularity, it was not a march and yet it 
suggested organized action. 

Next morning, having feasted our eyes upon the 
wonderful market, both the buyers and sellers of 
which might have stepped out of The Arabian 
Nights, we strolled towards the palace, as we 
had a keen desire to see the King, who was that 
morning holding a parliament, and who, a polite 
Austrian informed us, would soon return to his 
palace. Accordingly, we were not surprised, when 
the picturesque procession passed slowly in front 
of us, the King, in his small pony cart, his high of- 
ficials walking respectfully behind. All wore the 
national dress, the sovereign himself had on a 
particularly splendid costume of sky-blue satin, 
elaborately embroidered. In spite of his age and 
infirmities. King Nikita looked strong and virile ; 
in his prime, he must have been a fine specimen of 
his race. 

That afternoon, we drove down to Rjeka in or- 
der to see the lake of Scutari at closer range ; we 
saw, besides, a unique village, more Turkish than 
anything that we had yet seen, with overhanging 
wooden upper stories to the houses and strange 
little cafes where nothing could be had but Turk- 
ish coffee. Here, no one spoke anything but Croa- 
tian or Arabic ; this was decidedly the most remote 
point of our whole tour. 

While our horses were resting, we walked to the 



XI 



southern edge of the village, where we discovered 
the King's winter palace — a good-sized country- 
house, built against the hillside. The only thing 
remarkable about it was the presence on the roof 
of a large sentry box, in which a soldier stood, 
scanning the road to Scutari with intent eyes. 

The atmosphere, in truth, was charged with 
electricity, fire seemed to smoulder everywhere — 
beneath rocks, behind walls, in men's breasts, no 
one could tell when the flames would burst forth. 
Extreme tension was apparent even to the 
stranger. 

Our furtive landlord had whispered to us of im- 
pending conflicts as well as of those that were 
past ; he himself had seen the fighting at Scutari. 
"War is terrible," he had murmured shudder- 
ingly. The land, he said, was keen for combat, for 
conquest — with nothing to lose and all to gain. It 
would be practically impossible for an enemy to 
invade the rocky fastnesses, whereas from Lovcen, 
the sacred mountain, the Montenegrins might 
harass the Austrians fearfully and perhaps re- 
cover the seacoast. 

Other tales he whispered of internal discords — 
of Prince Mirko, the family black sheep, of the 
wealthy German Crown Princess Militza, who un- 
fortunately had no children, of the old King, who 
had worked untiringly for his people. 

On our return drive to Cetinje, we passed a 



number of vehicles carrying well-to-do Turks to 
Scutari; we saw also many Albanians, mostly on 
foot and clad in the peculiar dress of their tribe. 
We had already learned how to distinguish these 
two peoples. 

That night we listened to further whispered 
confidences of our landlord, who seemed to live in 
fear of his life and who evidently had no opinion 
of the Montenegrins. On our repeating to him Mr. 
Gladstone's famous dictum, he merely gave us a 
look, which, however, spoke volumes. 

Altogether, we were thankful to be safely across 
the border, although the experience had been a 
memorable one in many ways. As we descended 
the wonderful military road and saw beneath us 
once again the fairy-like Bocche di Cattaro, we 
reflected with sadness that this perfect paradise 
might soon become a scene of carnage, for our 
observations added to what we had heard, con- 
vinced us that Montenegro was ready and eager to 
fight — regardless of methods, regardless of 
chances, regardless of anything except her own 
primitive instinct for combat. In earlier days, 
Turkey had been the hated foe, now it was 
Austria; truly, the Middle Ages still survive in 
the Balkans! 

At the Hotel Stadt Gratz at Cattaro, in spite of 
some drawbacks, we found a haven of rest after 
the uncertainties of our recent expedition. The 

13 



landlord, a Styrian by birth, with gentle manners, 
did his best for our comfort, as did his excellent 
boy headwaiter. When we left we said a word of 
praise to the proprietor about this same young 
waiter, whereupon the latter burst into suppressed 
though delighted laughter. "We realized in a flash 
that the two young men were brothers, Adolfo, 
the elder, assuming the management of the little 
hostlery, while the younger, a lad of seventeen, 
undertook all the duties of the dining-room. 

Our stay at Ragusa was so commonplace and 
disappointing that I will not write a word about 
it except to say that the place itself is quite delight- 
ful. It has been so fatally spoiled, however, by 
tourists and tourists' ways that the charm of the 
historic old town has been considerably dimmed, 
though as a picture it is still supremely beautiful. 

Our next important adventure was our dash 
into Herzegovina and Bosnia, which we under- 
took with some misgivings, but we were de- 
termined to carry out our itinerary. 

The railway to Sarajevo crosses the whole of 
Herzegovina and part of Bosnia and shows one a 
country every rod of which is full of unique beau- 
ty. It is the East, with her eternal mysteries and 
minarets, her veiled women and sad, bearded men. 
All day we watched the scene with fascinated eyes ; 
it reminded us of a kaleidoscope of vivid pictures, 
only in this instance the pictures were living. We 

t4 



saw Roman camps and rushing rivers, walled 
towns and Turkish bridges, grand defiles and 
lofty mountains, and everywhere the strange 
exotic inhabitants even more wild and medieval 
than those that we had lately seen in Montenegro. 

We reached Sarajevo after dark, thus missing 
the first impression of the place. A long drive 
over the roughest of roads brought us to our ho- 
tel, which was large and surprisingly up-to-date. 
There was something sinister about it, neverthe- 
less, and we both felt a strong desire not to linger 
there; in fact, it required all our nerve to stay 
even one night. We could not explain this feeling 
at the time, afterwards we realized that it had 
been a subtle though certain premonition of hid- 
den peril. 

We fell asleep from exhaustion rather than 
from any sense of security and awoke next morn- 
ing to find the proprietor, a secretive-looking 
Servian, at our door with a summons from the po- 
lice that we should immediately present ourselves 
and our papers of legitimation at the Town Hall. 
In spite of ourselves, we were alarmed by this 
message and upon my questioning the proprietor 
as to its meaning, he replied that it would prob- 
ably be nothing serious. His manner, however, 
was anything but reassuring, moreover, he seemed 
thoroughly to enjoy our perturbation. 

We had hired a Moslem guide for the day and 



IS 



accompanied by him, we betook ourselves to the 
police headquarters. This Moslem guide inspired 
in us instinctive confidence; he was an old man 
with sad eyes and courteous manners ; in a land of 
fatally mixed religions, the Mohammedan seemed 
on the whole the safest companion. 

When we entered the fine new Town Hall, from 
which twelve weeks later the Archduke and his 
wife went forth to meet their death, we were civilly 
received by the authorities, several of whom 
proved to be from Vienna. After glancing at our 
letters of credit and inquiring how long we in- 
tended to remain in the town, they dismissed us 
smilingly. Their familiar Viennese dialect em- 
boldened me to ask why we had been summoned, 
as such a thing had never happened to us before 
in Europe. They replied that Sarajevo being a 
fortified town, they must be constantly on their 
guard against spies. This reply increased our 
desire to be gone. We resolved to see the sights 
as thoroughly as possible and then to leave on the 
following morning. 

Our old guide conducted us first to the chief 
mosque, where, seated in the spacious court, we 
heard once more from the minaret the call to 
prayer — always impressive in itself as in its ef- 
fect — the faithful preparing themselves for wor- 
ship by careful ablutions in the holy fountain, with 
calm indifference to the curiosity of the onlooker. 

i6 



Next, we visited the old Servian church, a veri- 
table treasure house of antiquity and mellow col- 
our. Here, too, we were struck by the absence of 
self -consciousness on the part of the worshippers, 
who seemed completely absorbed in adoration of 
their various icons. The little church, which is 
slightly sunken, is surrounded by a high wall, for 
in earlier times it was not safe to hold Christian 
services in Sarajevo. Today, the town possesses 
a large Catholic cathedral, a huge Lutheran tem- 
ple, a flourishing Jewish synagogue, several 
Servian churches, besides the ninety mosques. As 
we surveyed these widely-divergent places of wor- 
ship, we wondered involuntarily whether toler- 
ance would be engendered by them or deadly dis- 
cord? 

In the afternoon we drove to the tobacco fac- 
tory, the carpet factory and that of the metal 
workers, all institutions founded and fostered by 
the Austrian government, in order to encourage 
native talent and to give employment to many 
hundreds. 

Lastly, our guide took us to the handsome new 
museum, but instead of entering it, we paused just 
outside, attracted by a spectacle in the adjoining 
parade ground. The Austrian cavalry was drawn 
up to await the arrival of the commander-in-chief, 
at his appearance, the band played the noble na- 
tional anthem. All hands saluted, all faces bright- 

17 



ened, even the spirited horses seemed to stiffen 
with pride at the sound of the beloved strains. 
Immediately afterwards the Bosnian hymn was 
played. 

The old Moslem at our side looked on in unim- 
passioned contemplation, fatalism was stamped 
plainly on his countenance. The rough Servian 
official ordered us off the grass in Croatian, this 
was repeated to our guide in Arabic, who told it to 
me in German and I translated his words into 
English. Later, at Spalato we went through this 
circumlocution of language as a matter of course ! 

At the close of the day, we parted regretfully 
with our well-mannered guide, and ventured out 
alone in the immediate vicinity of our hotel. We 
were anxious among other things to procure a 
Croatian translation of one of my great-great 
uncle — Fenimore Cooper's — tales for our collec- 
tion. In every shop, however, we were met by 
blank looks and absolute denials. No matter what 
we asked for, we were informed that it was not to 
be had, though in several cases we had actually 
seen the desired objects in the show windows. 
Very much perplexed, we retreated to our hotel by 
way of the fine new quay — that same quay which 
twelve weeks later became the so-called "street 
of bomb throwers." 

"We could not explain the singular behaviour 
of the shop people, we did not know until after- 

i8 



wards that they were Servians and that they had 
undoubtedly taken us for Austrians and hence had 
treated us with scarcely-veiled hostility, for was 
not the long-planned Slavonic rising close at hand, 
that onrush of the united Slavic nations which was 
to overwhelm and crush the cultured German ele- 
ment in Austria, and which, supported by Russia 
was to place the Slavs at length in a position of 
supremacy? Many whispers of this plot had 
reached us during our tour, the general opinion 
was that the attempt would be successful owing 
to careful organization and also to the fierce fan- 
aticism of the Slavonic races. It would be like a 
second invasion of the Huns, from which all civil- 
ization would suffer more or less severely. 

We reached our hotel much depressed and ill at 
ease, we longed to leave the sullen city. We en- 
tered the dining-room, which was crowded with 
light-hearted Austrians, for the most part officers 
and their wives, taking their supper at the best 
restaurant that the town afforded. We surveyed 
the scene with curious eyes, these people seemed 
quite happy and unconcerned, one might have 
fancied oneself at some suburban resort near 
Vienna, so gay was the chatter, so thoroughly 
amiable the company. Nothing suggested Sara- 
jevo except the large coloured wall paintings, rep- 
resenting local scenes of an Oriental character. 
Twelve weeks later, after the murder of the Arch- 

19 



duke, this same restaurant was practically de- 
molished by the mob, the furniture and expensive 
fittings were torn out and flung into the street, the 
windows were broken, the proprietor dared not so 
much as show himself, the rage of the people 
against the Servians was so great. 

As we travelled back to Ragusa the next day, 
across the wonderful country that we had already 
traversed once, the presentiment of evil to come 
was strong within us, likewise the conviction that 
Bosnia would never repay Austria for all the 
money and pains that had been expended on the 
sinister little province, that, on the contrary, she 
would do her utmost to destroy her hated bene- 
factress. 

We gazed at the wonderful scenes with eager 
eyes, for we knew that we should never see them 
again, once out of Bosnia, we did not intend to 
re-enter it — the sense of personal danger, of or- 
ganized treachery was so intense. When we 
emerged from the narrow defile of the Narenta — 
a defile that can scarcely be matched in Europe 
for grandeur — we drew a long breath of relief, it 
was as if we had escaped from a death trap. 

After another short stay at Ragusa, during 
which we took several charming excursions, we 
went by boat to Spalato, arriving there about mid- 
night on a very wet evening. There was but one 
available conveyance for travellers, a kind of 



20 



omnibus into which we all clambered, leaving our 
hand luggage in the clutches of wild-looking port- 
ers, who restored it to us — half soaked — after it 
had been examined at the custom house. When 
we inquired the reason, as we had not come from 
a foreign country, they pulled long faces, and 
muttered, ''Spies — many smugglers." 

We went to bed, thoroughly tired and rather de- 
jected, for Spalato's welcome had been almost 
as inhospitable as that of Sarajevo. 

Next morning, however, we forgot our misgiv- 
ings, when accompanied by a talkative Italian 
guide, we made our way to Diocletian's marvellous 
palace — a whole town in itself. It seemed to us 
quite one of the wonders of the world, absolutely 
unique and stupendous even in its decay; we 
classed it with the drive to Cetinje, and the heav- 
enly sail by moonlight among the Dalmatian is- 
lands. How much greater are the Roman build- 
ings in the provinces than the structures still 
standing in the Eternal City itself. Compare for 
instance the Pont du Gard near Nimes, the Thea- 
tre at Orange, the Arena at Pola, the Palace of 
Diocletian, with the Roman Baths, the Palace of 
the Caesars and even the Forum. The Colisseum 
and Pantheon, to be sure, can hold their own 
against all rivals, though these, too, are sadly 
marred by their environment. 

Fascinated by the multiplicity of its attractions^ 



21 



we wandered about the strange palace, within the 
precincts of which no less than three thousand 
people live at the present time. We were haunted 
by the personality of Diocletian, we longed to 
fathom the mystery of his retirement, of his death. 

When we passed the Emperor's imposing sea 
front the following morning at five o 'clock on our 
way to the boat, we paused a moment — for we 
were on foot — to gaze our last at the mighty struc- 
ture and to speculate as to its future. What would 
become of it, should the expected Slavonic inroad 
take place, would it be wiped out together with all 
the historic past of the land? 

We quitted it in sadness — it is always sad to 
quit great things — what sights it has seen, what 
sights it may still see ! 

I must not forget to mention our excursion to 
Trail, an oasis of perfect beauty in a land of be- 
wildering incongruities. 

Trau is Venice in miniature, surrounded by wa- 
ter, containing exquisite buildings, and possessed 
withal of that indefinable grace which Venice 
alone in her best days knew how to give. An Ital- 
ian custodian showed us the treasures of his 
choice little cathedral; soft-eyed Italian women 
pointed out to us the Lion of St. Mark over gates 
and on doorways; everywhere there was charm 
and distinction, Venice without vulgarity, Venice, 
as she must once have been. 



2a 



We had found a fourth star to add to our list 
of precious memories — the drive to Cetinje, the 
magical coast sail, Diocletian's Palace and now — 
Trail! 

Salona, which we visited on our return, must 
be intensely interesting to antiquarians; it was, 
indeed, extremely interesting even to us — the 
sight of those early Christian tombs — so massive, 
so numerous, showing such evidence of love and 
care — was most impressive, not to say, moving. 
The primitive church seems nearer to us here 
than anywhere else in all the world, for here it is 
unencumbered by later additions — by later tradi- 
tions ; the early Christian burial ground is a direct 
survival, and as such makes a profound appeal to 
the imaginative beholder. 

To all Christian creeds, Salona is of incalculable 
value, if it were more easily accessible, it would be 
thronged — just as Pompeii is thronged — with 
eager pilgrims. As it is, the ruins are visited by 
the learned and by the occasional Dalmatian tour- 
ist, but they are not over-run and thus their 
strange solemnity is maintained. 

The following day we sailed from Spalato to 
Zara — a matter of some twelve hours, as we in- 
sisted on taking the slow coasting steamer in order 
to travel by daylight and also in order to have a 
few hours at Sebenico. The express boats go by 



S3 



night and omit Sebenico, which we were not will- 
ing to do. 

Our ship was primitive in the extreme, but the 
gruft Hungarian steward, who, at first, positively 
refused to give us breakfast, ended by doing his 
very best for our comfort — very characteristic — 
this — of his nation. 

We had a wonderful sail among the islands, 
making frequent stops to let off and take on pas- 
sengers and cargo. The day being a Festa, all 
the inhabitants of the remote little hamlets gath- 
ered at the boat landings, and thus we had a fine 
chance to see many different types and costumes — 
in fact, the whole trip was one long orgy of colour. 

We reached Sebenico before noon and hastened 
at once to the cathedral, which is thought by many 
to be the finest in Dalmatia, it is assuredly the 
most original. Built entirely of stone and marble, 
a thing unique in Europe, the wonderful stone 
wagon roof is indeed world renowned. 

On entering the beautifully carved north door, we 
found the building packed with people, the women 
were all dressed in black, and both men and women 
carried lighted tapers, even the children, of whom 
there were a great many, held small candles, with 
which they played between times, in true Italian 
fashion. In the centre of the nave there was a 
large catafalque draped in black and surrounded 
by kneeling attendants, who likewise held burning 

24 



tapers; from the raised choir monotonous chant- 
ing sounded ; it was evidently a mass for the dead. 

Our curiosity was keenly aroused, who could 
this person have been whose death had caused such 
grief to an entire town? 

From our place we commanded the whole nave 
and we could therefore see the faces of the con- 
gregation, which were all turned in our direction, 
those of the women were for the most part con- 
vulsed with sorrow, though occasionally a face 
stood out by reason of its rapt faith and resigna- 
tion. Every one in the church seemed to be pray- 
ing with his or her whole soul, every one seemed 
to be intensely concerned in the service — person- 
ally concerned, as it were. 

We remained motionless, fascinated by the 
scene, which harmonized so wonderfully with the 
venerable pile in which we found ourselves. 

After the function, when the people had some- 
what dispersed, we sought the sacristan and in- 
quired eagerly for whom the mass had been said? 
He replied simply: **It was a mass for all the 
dead; we always have one on the last Friday of 
this month." 

We left the church in a subdued mood, but also 
in one of comfort ; to behold sincere faith in a vast 
multitude is always consoling not to say uplifting. 

The harbour scenes at Sebenico were the most 
picturesque that we had yet seen — Italian sailors, 

25 



Eastern merchants, Croatian peasants, and 
mingled with them, the smart Austrian naval of- 
ficers, for the harbour of Sebenico is one of the 
most valuable on the whole coast, being strongly 
fortified and very difficult of access. Sebenico, in 
short, received one of our double stars, along 
with the drive to Cetinje, the Dalmatian coast, 
Diocletian's Palace and Trau. 

Zara seemed to us less remarkable, although the 
round church of San Donato, erected upon the 
ruins of Roman buildings, is positively blood- 
curdling to the imaginative beholder. The sight 
of the ancient columns, topsy turvy, overthrown, 
in mad confusion, as a foundation for a solid 
Christian edifice, suggests a nightmare. Surely, 
nothing like it has ever been seen by mortal eyes ! 
That wilderness of fluted pillars lying on their 
sides in complete abandonment, and then, on top, 
the ancient church, which has stood since the ninth 
century. 

We emerged into the air with dizzy heads — 
were the early Christians insane or merely mad 
with bigotry? Is it possible that such a founda- 
tion was deemed secure, and yet it has proved so, 
we remind ourselves wonderingly. One has often 
seen Christian churches, which were built on the 
site of heathen temples, but never where, as in the 
case of San Donato, the under structure was so 
uneven and wildly hazardous. 

26 



Another small coasting steamer took us from 
Zara to Fiume, with a stop at Arbe, that city of 
dreams. This trip was also extremely beautiful 
and Arbe is surely the loveliest of all Dalmatian 
towns. Perched on a rock, with her towers fac- 
ing the sea, the little city presents a warlike front, 
as her walls are still intact. 

Lovely Arbe, what will your fate be if the Slavs 
win in the coming struggle? The Italian ele- 
ment has already been systematically suppressed, 
that Latin culture, which has survived so many 
centuries. Whatever happens, we have seen you 
in all your beauty, and we have given you a place 
of honour in our cabinet of memories. 

From Fiume we travelled by train to Buda-Pesth, 
another fine mountain journey through a region 
unknown to us. As gypsy lovers, we looked out 
eagerly for some of the tribe, but without definite 
success. The Hungarian peasants wear a rough 
white costume, their features differ markedly 
from those of other races ; their faces are broad, 
with irregular noses and fine eyes, their beauty 
consists in vivid colouring and sprightly expres- 
sion. Their manners are peculiar, very independ- 
ent and apparently hostile to strangers, though we 
were assured that this was not really their inten- 
tion, but that they had lived by themselves and 
were not used to foreign ways. 

At Buda-Pesth we revelled frankly in creature 



27 



comforts ; after our strenuous tour, it was perfect 
ecstasy to have a bathroom I We gave ourselves, 
nevertheless, very little leisure to enjoy our lux- 
uries, for there was much to see and we were due 
in Vienna in a week. 

"We besieged the Gallery of Old Masters, where 
we found, besides many great pictures, a fragment 
of what we believed to be a real Giorgione ; we at- 
tended a performance at the opera and witnessed 
a charming ballet, which was given to illustrate 
some of Schumann's Kinderscenen — very touch- 
ing and tenderly poetic and a great relief to us 
after the exotic wildness of our recent experiences, 
for it seemed safe and sane and highly civilized. 

Buda-Pesth, as a whole, interested us extreme- 
ly, although it is too modem to fascinate by pic- 
turesqueness, but the town is splendidly situated 
and rich in public buildings, and the people are 
vigorous, intelligent and deeply patriotic. In time 
of need, I believe they would rally to a man, to 
serve their King and to defend their land from 
depredation. Have they not always been the out- 
post in a place of danger, and have they not 
sturdily held their own against continual Servian 
machinations ? 

I must mention one incident which had a sequel 
in Vienna. We went to the Royal Palace one day 
in order to visit the Queen Elisabeth Museum, and 
having examined the various souvenirs with sym- 

28 



pathetic interest, we having always been great ad- 
mirers of the beautiful Empress, we happened to 
make a remark to that effect to one of the at- 
tendants, whereupon we were immediately con- 
ducted to a locked room, where the custodian told 
us, a number of other mementos were kept, which 
he would be glad to show us. Unlocking the door 
he ushered us into two large rooms, fitted with 
show cases and hung with numerous portraits. 
Left alone, we began to study the objects in the 
cases. One case was evidently devoted to books 
about the Empress. I gave a cry — My Past was 
among them ! We scarcely believed our own eyes 
— ^how could that volume have found its way hith- 
er, a book by the notorious ex-Countess Larisch, 
the Empress's niece and protegee, who had been 
banished from Austria by the Emperor for the 
part that she had played in Crown Prince Rudolf's 
affairs, and who, in revenge, many years later, 
had published this vile attack on her dead bene- 
factress, slandering her as only those that have 
accepted benefits habitually, can slander! That 
this volume, officially forbidden in Austria, should 
have been placed in a museum, founded and main- 
tained by the Empress 's most devoted and loyal 
adherents (in Hungary her memory is revered 
as that of a saint), disturbed and perplexed us 
beyond words. We resolved to investigate the 
matter at all costs in Vienna. 

29 



+ 



Just before leaving the Hungarian capital, we 
drove to the Elisabeth Church, erected as a me- 
morial to the dead Empress, and containing a life- 
sized statue of her in the vestibule. This statue 
represents her as coming down a flight of steps, 
and the effect, in the half light, is wonderfully 
natural, not to say, startling. 

The only other monument that impressed us 
greatly at Buda-Pesth — that city of monu- 
ments — was that of the so-called Anonymus, the 
unknown chronicler of the Arpad period. It is a 
seated figure of a monk, with his cowl dra"\vn over 
his head — a most mysterious, poetic figure, which 
might well serve as a pendant to that of the mys- 
terious, tragic Empress. 

Our journey to Vienna afforded us fine views of 
the Danube (that noble river which is so much 
less known than it deserves to be), and thus com- 
pleted our splendid gallery of mental nature pic- 
tures, for until now we had seen no great river on 
our tour. 

My mother recalled an earlier journey over this 
same road when we had travelled by the same 
train as the late Crown Prince Rudolf, and when, 
at every station between Vienna and Buda-Pesth, 
gypsy bands had played entrancingly in honour of 
the heir to the throne. We listened in vain for 
uny gypsy music now. 

On crossing the March, we bade farewell to the 

30 



land of the Magyars, that land of violent contrasts 
and national arrogance, but also the land of noble 
courage and chivalric devotion. 

At Vienna we spent delightful weeks, hearing 
such music as only Vienna can produce. Our 
rooms overlooked the beautiful Ringstrasse, and 
we were never tired of watching the animated 
scene. 

Vienna had been so dear to us for so long — so 
a part of ourselves — that like Venice, the mere 
sight of her happiness clutched at our heart- 
strings. Just as some people weep when they see 
exquisite dancing, so are we moved to tears by the 
gaiety of beloved places. There are cities and 
cities — some, we admire and respect, some we are 
interested in, a few we love. Vienna is one of 
these. 

Meanwhile, we had not forgotten My Past, but 
we were hesitating as to the best course to pursue. 
We thought first of applying directly to the Em- 
peror, but fortunately we relinquished this idea, 
addressing ourselves to Mme. de Ferenczy in- 
stead. This lady was for thirty-five years the 
Empress's reader and confidential companion, it 
was to her that her mistress entrusted her most 
precious bag of papers before she left Austria for 
the last time, so that after the assassination, Mme. 
de Ferenczy was immediately summoned to pro- 
duce the bag, which she did, half dead with grief. 

31 



Whereupon, according to the precise directions, 
the bag was cut open in the presence of the Em- 
peror, as no one had been allowed to have a key. 

Knowing this lady's absolute devotion to the 
Empress 's memory, we decided to put the case be- 
fore her in writing. The response was instantane- 
ous, and we then learned for the first time of the 
serious complication, which had hampered all ac- 
tion in connection with the libellous volume. The 
Emperor himself was not acquainted with its 
contents, lo one had dared to tell him, fearing the 
effect on his heart and mind. 

**It would kill him," the lady declared to us 
with a tragic gesture, **he could not bear it, if he 
knew that his queen had been so maligned ! ' ' She 
assured us, however, that everything possible 
should be done indirectly to effect the removal of 
the book from the museum — the Emperor, alone, 
could order it to be removed, for it was the Em- 
peror who had given the money for the purchase 
of all works, which had been or should be written 
about his consort. 

* * Oh, won 't you tell every one in your great, gen- 
erous country that those stories are cruel, cruel 
slanders?" she cried with tears in her eyes. "Her 
Majesty was the best, the noblest lady!" 

Her confidence in our powers of influence was 
touching, we could not bear to shake it. We 



33 



promised to do our utmost. At this she bright- 
ened and we parted as real friends. 

Immediately after this came the news of the 
serious illness of the Emperor, an illness, which 
hung over Vienna like a heavy cloud for six long 
weeks. No one pretended to rally, the gloom was 
so universal that it was impossible to escape from 
it even if one had wanted to. The anxiety about 
the future was intense, as the Heir Apparent was 
not only unpopular, but a dark horse as well. 

When the monarch was at length pronounced 
convalescent, the relief was so boundless that one 
could actually feel it like a heartbeat — a heartbeat 
of joy throughout the whole land. It convinced 
us, had we needed any such conviction, that the 
Emperor Francis Joseph is the most passionately- 
beloved of all living sovereigns. Trials he has 
had without number, unheard-of sorrows and dis- 
asters, but he has had one great possession — the 
love of his people — and of that possession no one 
can rob him — not Servians, not Russians, not even 
Socialists — that possession he will carry with him 
to his tomb. 

On one of our last evenings in the imperial city, 
we went to the Burgtheater, that most precious 
stronghold of German culture in Austria, that bul- 
wark against the insidious and ever-increas- 
ing advance of Slavic and Polish influences. 



33 



Two plays were given, The Language of the 
Birds, a poetic fantasy, introducing King Solo- 
mon as one of the characters and Resurrection, a 
modern comedy by Felix Salten. Both pieces were 
brilliantly acted, both gave much food for thought 
by reason of their piquant contrast of time and 
theme. As we strolled back to our hotel after the 
performance, which was over at the sensible hour 
of half past nine, my mother repeatedly com- 
plained that her cloak felt very heavy; she was 
wearing a plain black cloth garment with deep 
pockets, called most inappropriately the ** Nor- 
ma." We had reached the inner court of the 
venerable Hofburg, through which one always 
passes in order to shorten the distance, before we 
discovered that the bulky object in my mother's 
right hand pocket, which she had supposed to be a 
pair of opera glasses, was in reality a large pistol 
enclosed in a leather case! 

We paused in consternation — my mother was 
wearing a gentleman's overcoat instead of her 
** Norma!" Upon examining the coat, we found 
that it belonged to Count Emerich Thun, a young 
naval officer, who next day, returned our 
"Norma" to us. 

Thus was our last impression of the beloved 
Kaiserstadt, an impression strongly mingled of 
war and peace — the height of polished art at the 
conservative, fastidious court theatre and then a 

34 



large loaded pistol in the pocket of a member of 
the audience ! 

This picture of ourselves crossing Vienna at 
night, carrying formidable firearms, fitted in 
strangely with what has happened since. 

Soon after this we attended another perform- 
ance of special interest, which was given at the 
Dresden Opera house in honour of the great Rus- 
sian barytone, Baklanoff— the opera was To sea. 

Although as a rule after leaving Vienna, we are 
not very keen for musical entertainments given 
elsewhere, yet on this occasion we determined to 
lay aside all scruples and to hear the performance. 
We were fully repaid, for the guest's Scarpia held 
us spellbound by its cleverness, its finish, its dia- 
bolical power. We shuddered, we admired, we 
succumbed; but underneath there was the horror 
of the Slavonic pressure. Baklanoff played on 
his audience at his pleasure — a great genius truly, 
but a brutal genius at bottom. His Scarpia was a 
masterpiece of characterization, but one longed 
to knock him down for his magnificent insolence. 

The performance of the great Slav artist fol- 
lowing so closely upon our adventure with Count 
Thun's pistol, seemed prophetic of what was to 
come. 

At Franzensbad, Bohemia, where we made our 
annual iron cure, we passed a quiet month, bath- 
ing, drinking the springs, reading, resting and 



35 



walking; nothing disturbed our peace during this 
interval, indeed, I believe it was the strength we 
gained there that enabled us to endure subsequent 
miseries without collapsing. 

Only one thing impressed us rather painfully — 
the immense increase of the Slavonic element 
since our last visit. We noticed that in the shops 
and on the street, Russian visitors were markedly 
predominant; the natives complained bitterly of 
the fact, saying that it was most injurious to the 
reputation of Franzensbad as an international 
bathplace. The Slavs on their part, as if con- 
scious of these secret murmurs, increased their 
arrogance, which, indeed, was scarcely bearable 
even to the mere passer-by. 

And just here, I wish to say that I am quite 
aware that the Slavonic nations have had cruel 
grievances, that they have been downtrodden, 
cheated and oppressed. Smetana's opera of 
Dalibor gives a moving picture of Slavonic suf- 
ferings and aspirations, and it is a picture which 
arouses sympathetic pity; nevertheless, if the 
Slavs should ever get the upper hand, I believe 
that it would be a sad day for civilization. 

At the end of our Bohemian sojourn, the bloody 
deed of Sarajevo horrified the world. As we had 
so recently visited the fatal city, it came home to 
us with peculiar intensity. Servian cunning had, 
indeed, scored a great triumph. Luring the Arch- 

36 



duke's morganatic wife, herself a Slav by promises 
of imperial homage, which hitherto she had never 
been able to obtain, they caught both her and her 
husband in a trap — and what a trap ! The details 
of it make gruesome reading. If the doomed pair 
had escaped from ''the street of bomb throwers," 
and had reached the Konak, where they were to 
have lunched, there were bombs under the table 
and even in the clocks, if they had escaped these, 
on the way back to the station, bombs had been 
placed in overhanging boughs of trees. Had 
everything failed, elaborate arrangements had 
been made to wreck the train in which the un- 
happy couple would have had to travel on their 
return journey! 

Our intuitions in regard to Sarajevo had cer- 
tainly been verified, plots must have been posi- 
tively seething when we were there — long-laid 
schemes for driving the Austrians from the coun- 
try and for establishing Servian rule. The pre- 
meditated murder of the Archduke forced Austria 
to make reprisals, if she had not, she would have 
lost her own self respect, as well as that of the 
world. Knowing this, and with Russia to back 
her up, Servia played her cards and apparently 
won. 

Let all those who blame Austria for taking the 
so-called initiative, consider what other countries 
would have done in her place. If Belgian con- 

37 



spirators had enticed the Prince of Wales into 
Ireland, knowing the chronic discontent there, and 
had then deliberately murdered him, and if the 
deed had been traced directly to Belgium, would 
England have listened to representations from the 
Powers that she should refrain from demanding 
satisfaction of Belgium'? And if that satisfaction 
had been refused, would England have swallowed 
the insult or would she have declared war? 

Take another instance. If Mexico, having in- 
vited his presence, had treacherously assassinated 
an American officer of high rank, would the United 
States have acceded to the wishes of foreign coun- 
tries that the matter should be settled by diplo- 
macy and not by force of arms ? 

It is very easy to accept the injuries done to 
other people, but when they are done to ourselves, 
the affair assumes a different colour. Austria 
chose the path of honour at the risk of possible 
destruction, any other course would have been un- 
worthy of a great nation. 

We left FranzensBad, saddened and uneasy, we 
feared the future for that Austria which was so 
dear to us. We dreaded the suffering which might 
come upon that kindly and gifted people, who 
had — high and low — added so much to our com- 
fort and happiness all these many years. The gold- 
en heart of Vienna is proverbial — it had never 
failed us — and now was that heart to throb with 

38 



bitter anguish 1 Were all the treasures of art and 
industry which the Dual Monarchy had produced 
and was producing, to be jeopardized in the ter- 
rible struggle that was impending? 

The peculiar charm — the peculiar gift of the 
Austrian peoples — is the fruit of centuries of 
cultivation grafted on great natural aptitude. 
The Austrians are to the Germans what the best 
kind of woman is to the strong man — gracious, 
sensitive, affectionate, deeply religious, highly 
endowed, at bottom, naive. 

If this race should be overwhelmed by the Slavs, 
it would mean the sacrifice of what the world 
could ill afford to lose. 

Bayreuth seemed another world, idyllic jand 
yet intensely active ; every one was working hard 
to reach the desired goal — in this case artistic per- 
fection. It was German industry as contrasted 
with Austrian charm, though both cooperated 
most happily at the musical Mecca, for many 
Austrians were in the orchestra and among the 
singers. We were to attend the dress rehearsals 
and a few performances and then to proceed to 
England by slow stages. 

As we were living at a little villa on the hill, 
near the theatre and also near the delightful 
forest, we felt justified in calling our Bayreuth so- 
journ an "after cure." We spent our mornings 
reading aloud in the woods and then at about a 

39 



quarter to four we would stroll up the shady path 
which separated us from the historic Festspiel- 
haus. Having entered the building we straight- 
way forgot that any other life existed outside ! 

Seated in the front row with fifteen empty 
places on either side of us, and two vacant rows 
behind for the exclusive use of Wagner 's son, who, 
as stage manager, wished to see the scenes from 
all points of view, we drank in the life-giving 
music and feasted our eyes upon the wonderful 
effects of clouds, water, earth and magic fire. 
Sometimes, Dr. Muck would slip in at our extreme 
left, sometimes a musical assistant would station 
himself at our right, in order to judge of some dif- 
ficult point. In the audience, which nearly filled 
the auditorium from the fifth row backwards, we 
noticed many familiar — not to say famous faces — - 
among others, those of Humperdinck and Haupt- 
mann and Dr. Schweninger, Bismarck's cele- 
brated physician. Singers were there, too, by 
the score and conductors and teachers; almost 
every one, in fact, was either a trained musician 
or a person of .eminence in some other line. The 
atmosphere was refreshingly professional, there 
was no ignorant applause, but there was keen ap- 
preciation of whatever was of the first order. In- 
deed, when the public performances began, there 
was a decided loss in the quality of the listeners, 
distinguished as many of them were. 

40 



We had, for example, the Kaiser's fourth son 
and his beautiful wife — Prince and Princess 
August Wilhelm — as near neighbours on the first 
day of the Ring. It was from this young man, the 
handsomest of the Prussian princes, that we re- 
ceived our first intimation of imminent danger. 

The Austrian note to Servia and its outcome 
had, of course, created intense excitement at Bay- 
reuth. Most of the Austrian artists left at once, 
including several members of the orchestra as 
well as our splendid Gurnemanz and a number of 
Hungarian noblemen. Still, the alarm was not 
general, people hoped that the conflict could be 
localized. 

The Ring proceeded, there was no noticeable 
change in the audience, the English and Ameri- 
can visitors seemed quite unconcerned. Near us 
sat a retired American diplomat, a man of long 
years ' experience both in Germany and elsewhere. 
We tried to approach him on the subject of pos- 
sible international complications, but he, too, re- 
fused to take the matter seriously. 

Then, all of a sudden, something happened, 
which revealed to us in a flash the gravity of the 
situation. We were standing in the small, free 
space at the side of the house, waiting to take our 
seats, when our attention was attracted to Prince 
August Wilhelm. He had let the ladies of his 
party precede him to their places, while he had 

4« 



stayed behind in a dark corner — unobserved, as 
he thought by anyone — in order to hold a private 
conversation with Prince Hohenlohe-Langenburg. 
"We could not, of course, overhear what they were 
saying, but we saw their expression, which 
startled us by its solemnity. Prince August Wil- 
helm, indeed, was quite transformed — the day be- 
fore, he had been a bright, good-natured boy, to- 
day he was an anxious, stern-faced man. 

With one of those intuitions which we have 
learned to follow implicitly, my mother instantly 
resolved to leave Bayreuth as soon as possible, 
sacrificing our remaining tickets, and travelling 
straight to England! 

The next day we made all necessary arrange- 
ments, ordering our railway tickets to Charing 
Cross and drawing money at the bank. We were 
able to secure, besides German gold and paper, 
five English sovereigns, which as it turned out, 
were of inestimable value. 

There was still no apprehension at Bayreuth, 
though the Prussian royalties had left the town 
that same night, and there was a rumour that sev- 
eral Bavarian regiments had already been 
despatched to the Polish frontier; we, ourselves, 
saw a mysterious Zeppelin, sailing majestically in 
the same direction. 

The performance of Gotterdammerung passed 
off without incident — how that music haunted us 

42 



on our subsequent, terrible journey ! With heavy 
hearts we bade farewell to the beloved building, 
where so many of our most glorious hours had 
been passed, we said a tearful good-bye also to the 
kind family with whom we lodged, all the mem- 
bers of which, including Hansel the canary, were 
tried friends, then we drove down to the town, 
which was gayly beflagged in honour of the visit 
of a Bavarian prince; the Flying Dutchman was 
to be given that afternoon. 

Even at the last moment, we questioned our de- 
cision, everything tempted us to remain in a place 
which we loved and where we were well known. 
After all, were we not rushing off at a tangent 
merely because of the expression on the face of 
one young man ! 

At the station, an old friend saw us off, a man 
in whom we had the greatest confidence. When 
we asked him to tell us frankly what he thought of 
the situation, he looked very grave and remarked : 
"Today, things seem more serious. But," he 
added, "I have the firm belief that our Emperor 
will hold war back until the last possible moment.*' 
We shared this belief to the full, had not Emperor 
William kept peace for twenty-six years? 

We quitted Bayreuth on Friday, July 31st — 
since that day we have heard nothing from there, 
it is as if a thick black pall had fallen between us 



43 



and those we left behind — not a word, not a sign 
has reached us to show that they are even alive. 

We gazed at the pretty Franconian country with 
troubled eyes, everything looked peaceful, 'but 
what might not a single day bring forth ! If Rus- 
sia was mobilizing, Germany would be obliged to 
do likewise — and that would mean war. 

The Nuremberg station was full of people, but 
we did not notice anything extraordinary until we 
entered the restaurant. There we found every 
one reading small extra sheets, which were dis- 
tributed gratis. I managed to get hold of one of 
these and to my horror read the fatal words: 
* * Germany is in a state of threatening war, which 
is equivalent to a state of siege in Prussia. 
Frontiers, bridges and tunnels are to be immedi- 
ately guarded. Traffic and mails will be greatly 
restricted, contrabands will be seized, etc., etc." 

We glanced about the huge room, consternation 
was imprinted on many faces, we saw no elation 
anywhere, only quiet, gloomy resolution. The at- 
titude was that of accepting the inevitable with 
resignation — that courage was there too, has been 
amply proved by events. 

As for ourselves, we made our plans rapidly, 
we would travel straight to Cologne without stop- 
ping, sleep there, take up our registered luggage 
and continue our journey to England on the fol- 
lowing morning. General mobilization had not 

44 



yet been announced, so that we might, by acting 
quickly, get ahead of the rush. That was our hope 
as we left Nuremburg after a wait of an hour, and 
in fact we did accomplish the greater part of the 
distance to Frankfort without interruption, but 
when we reached the outskirts of the latter city, 
we were detained for a long time without explana- 
tion. Finally we were told that it was because the 
troop trains were being hurried off to Metz. This 
was our first contact with martial law ; there were 
patrols everywhere and order was rigidly main- 
tained. 

We descended from the train at Frankfort to 
find the spacious station literally crammed with 
excited people, tramping up and down and eagerly 
scanning the latest bulletins, which, during our 
five hours in the building, followed each other 
with ominous rapidity. All the through trains 
had already been discontinued and we were faced 
by the alternative of sleeping at Frankfort or of 
taking the 1:46 a. m. express for Flushing via 
Cologne — which was the only train for the north 
scheduled to leave that night. 

We hesitated ; we were extremely tired, it would 
mean waiting for hours in the crowded station, 
and even then, we might not be able to force our 
way into the train. Next day there might be a 
better chance. The temptation was strong to 
sleep at the neighbouring Englischerhof, where we 

45 



were known, and where we could enjoy comfort 
and quiet. We decided to consult the station- 
master. That weary official was frantically at 
work in his inner office, but on hearing our anxious 
questions, he paused a moment, gave us one look 
and then said: *'I'd advise you to go at 1:46." 

That settled it. Having fortified ourselves with 
what refreshments we could procure, we made our 
plan for storming the train. By dint of de- 
termined efforts, we succeeded finally in forcing 
our way through the gate to the line on which the 
Flushing express was expected to arrive. There, 
we saw masses of luggage piled up in heaps and 
guarded by soldiers ; to our dismay, our five trunks 
were of the number ! We realized in a flash that 
we must abandon all idea of their going with us — 
this was one of the hardest moments we had had 
to face. To relinquish even temporarily so much 
that was quite irreplaceable, required all the nerve 
that we could muster between us. If only we had 
not seen the precious trunks, if only we could have 
fancied that they had gone on to Cologne ! 

When the train came in, it was literally stormed, 
in five minutes there was not an inch of space un- 
occupied. Following an inspiration, we made for 
one of the sleeping cars, judging rightly that the 
majority of travellers would besiege the day 
coaches. After a fearful struggle, we managed to 
mount the steps, dragging our small luggage with 

46 



us, and sitting down on it in the corridor. There 
we sat or rather crouched for the rest of the night, 
in the narrow passage outside the sleeping com- 
partments. A kind lady gave us a cushion from 
her bed, but the polyglot Belgian porter made 
things as difficult for us as he possibly could, de- 
manding money for allowing us to sit on the floor, 
and resorting to various petty tyrannies which 
were very hard to endure. 

There were a good many American girls in the 
car, mostly travelling alone and without available 
money. Their distress was pitiable indeed, they 
were bound for Holland, as being the nearest neu- 
tral county. We heard afterwards that the Dutch 
had treated all foreigners very badly. 

I shall never forget that journey down th^ 
Rhine, first by moonlight and then by dawn. 
Closely wedged in as we were against the low 
windows, we commanded an uninterrupted view 
of the historic river. The wonderful mobilization 
had proceeded apace; by this time, a few hours 
after the first official announcement, not only were 
the troops massed at the frontiers, but every tun- 
nel, every bridge, every signal station on the en- 
tire route, was guarded by soldiers. It was as if 
they had sprung up by magic; in the morning 
there had been no sign of military activity, at 
night, Germany was fully armed and under 
martial law from end to end. A button had been 

47 



touched at Berlin and behold, the vast machinery 
had moved without a hitch. It was terrible, and 
yet it was magnificent, the triumph of organiza- 
tion working as a nation which had been taught 
to obey from the cradle, a nation, moreover, in 
whom the sense of duty has always been supreme, 
and who would shrink from no sacrifice which 
would benefit the beloved Fatherland. 

As we passed each dear, familiar, place — 
Mayence and Bingen, the Loreley rocks and all 
the castles — it seemed like some horrible dream, 
for everything looked so peaceful by the dim light, 
and all the while, those other Rhine scenes and 
that Rhine music of the Gotterdammerung, floated 
before our eyes and sounded in our ears — could 
anything be more symbolic, more prophetic of 
danger than just that work! It was strange that 
this year for the first time, it had been our last 
performance, hitherto, we had always avoided 
leaving after it. We gazed at the ghostly river 
with dim eyes, was it, too, to be overwhelmed by 
disaster? Hagen's cry — ''Need — Need is here!" 
echoed insistently in our ears. Likewise Briinn- 
hilde's *'Eid und Meineid — Miissige Acht." 

Was Wagner's nation — the nation of Goethe 
and Beethoven and of all the great scientists, who 
had laboured so patiently for the good of man- 
kind — was this highly-civilized, progressive coun- 
try — this country of domestic virtue and of in- 

48 



tellectual preeminence — was this land — this Ger- 
many of our hearts to plunge desperately into de- 
struction, and were all the other kingdoms of the 
earth to band together against her? Already, her 
two most formidable neighbours were in a state of 
war with her, and in her dangerous situation — be- 
tween two fires — her only chance lay in pre- 
cipitate action. This we realized and yet our 
souls were sick within us. 

At Cologne, where we arrived, much exhausted 
at seven a. m., we drove directly to Cook's office, 
which, however, was closed. We then went to the 
Hotel du Nord, but on the way thither, I jumped 
out of the carriage, in order to read one of the 
large proclamations which were posted up every- 
where. The fourth clause stated that all strangers 
must leave Cologne within twenty-four hours of 
arrival unless they could show satisfactory rea- 
son for their presence. This greatly increased 
our growing panic. We hurried to the hotel to 
consult our old friend the hall porter, who had 
a record of thirty-five years' service in the same 
situation. He told us that the ten a. m. express 
for Ostende was sure to run. Again we wavered, 
the hotel seemed quiet and safe, we were sorely 
in need of sleep, moreover, by remaining in 
Cologne for twenty-four hours, we might possibly 
recover our lost luggage. 

We decided to make one more visit to Cook's 

49 



office; we found it still shut, but we waited in 
front with some other harassed travellers until 
at last the iron shutters were partly raised. We 
crawled in to find one Englishman in charge. He 
was in a high state of nervous excitement, abso- 
lutely refusing to do anything for us, and saying 
that he expected to close the establishment that 
afternoon. 

We left the office in much dejection, for the first 
time in all our long experience. Cook had failed 
us ! No doubt, it was from necessity, nevertheless, 
it caused consternation not only to us but to many 
others. 

We hastened back to the hotel, passing the 
great cathedral for the third time that morning. 
We longed to step inside for a moment in search 
of strength if not of comfort. Eleven years before, 
we had attended a service there in memory of 
Pope Leo XIII, then lately dead. It had been most 
impressive in the dusk, with the lights of the nave 
looking like funeral torches. We little thought 
that anxious morning that another Pope would so 
soon be gathered to his fathers — the good Pius X, 
whom we had known and loved as Patriarch of 
Venice. 

Meanwhile, our time was growing fearfully 
short, if we were to catch the ten o'clock express 
for Ostende, as we had reluctantly decided to do. 
We gave our precious luggage ticket to the old 

50 



porter, with nrgent instructions to get our trunks 
at the earliest possible moment and lock them up 
at the hotel, whereupon, with heavy hearts, we 
took our departure. Germany had seemed safe, 
Germany had treated us kindly, we were leaving 
behind us many dear friends of long years' stand- 
ing, we were cutting ourselves off from much that 
made a part of our life ; we were also abandoning 
our luggage — which was a calamity in itself. 
Nevertheless there was something that drove us 
on. 

We left Cologne at the scheduled hour, every- 
thing seemed as usual except that there was no 
dining-car and no chance of buying provisions. 
The passengers this time were mostly English 
people ; in our compartment were two ladies from 
London with whom we travelled most of the way 
to Ostende. There was both gain and loss in 
this — gain, because a party of four is more im- 
pressive than one or two — loss, because in great 
emergencies, each person must have keen wits 
and quickness of action; and these ladies, al- 
though very agreeable and speaking both French 
and German fluently, lacked decision, which was 
absolutely essential if we were to come through in 
safety. It is just as important to know what 
not to ask as what to ask ; questions must be care- 
fully considered and then hurled out with de- 
termination to have any chance of success at such 

SI 



a moment. Any meandering is fatal in dealing 
with officials, especially in Belgium, where they 
seemed to enjoy misleading one as much as pos- 
sible. 

All went well until Herbesthal, the German 
frontier, where we received an imperative sum- 
mons to alight, as no train was going through, we 
should have to walk to Verviers ! We did so by a 
circuitous route, in the broiling sun, weighed 
down by our hand luggage. It was a small con- 
solation to us to see that no trunks could have 
been taken. We tramped through endless streets 
in a straggling procession, if we had been blind- 
folded, we could not have been more confused as 
to our direction. After a rapid walk of three- 
quarters of an hour, we reached Verviers, where 
we were fairly pushed into a small train, which 
started off almost before we could throw our- 
selves and our hand bags into it. Thus began our 
mad rush through Belgium. 

We travelled third-class most of the way, there 
were no guards, no porters, it was as much as 
one^s life was worth to accomplish the frequent 
changes and not be left behind. No one would 
tell us where to go, no one would carry our hand 
luggage. At Liege, where we changed carriages 
for the third time, a whole row of idle men stood 
and laughed at us as we attempted to transport 
our belongings from one train to the other — no 

52 



money tempted them, no appeals roused their 
pity, we spoke in French naturally, but they 
jeered at us openly. One man remarked, "You 
have plenty of time to lose your train!" 
Finally, utterly fagged and unstrung after the 
unexpected insults that we had received, we 
reached Brussels, where, in spite of deliberate at- 
tempts to put us wrong, we managed to catch the 
express for Ostende. 

As we traversed the well-known route to the 
sea — that route which we had traversed countless 
times in careless ease, it seemed like a dream that 
we were actually fleeing ! 

I read the name Dilbeek on one of the smaller 
stations not far beyond Brussels and it flashed 
across my mind that a Belgian school friend of 
mine had invited us to visit her there on our way 
to England. This, too, seemed quite like a dream, 
though I had received the letter but two weeks be- 
fore. And here we were, whirling by in frantic 
haste towards the coast, while my friend, whose 
fine castle I was not to see, was probably in mortal 
anxiety. 

We thought, too, with concern, of Van Dyck, the 
only other Belgian in whom we were particularly 
interested — the greatest of Parsifals, the most 
courteous of gentlemen. 

At Ostende, where we arrived at six p. m., we 
were told that a boat would cross to Dover prob- 

53 



ably about midnight, as it had to wait for trains 
from all directions. Thankful at least to have 
gained the coast, we waited anxiously, not leav- 
ing the Maritime Station for a single moment. At 
the ticket office when we applied for a private 
cabin, we saw the ominous notice posted up that 
the German frontier was already closed. This 
gave us of course a severe shock, for it meant 
that all communication with Germany and Austria 
was cut off — we could not hear from our friends 
perhaps for months — we could not write to them. 
At this moment our distress of mind was acute. 
Had we done right to get out in such haste, with- 
out our luggage and at such a cost to our nerves? 

We had not lost consciousness for an instant 
since we started and it was now almost a necessity 
to get a few hours' sleep. All the private cabins, 
we found, had been sold twice over, so to speak, 
but knowing the Ostende boats as we did, we knew 
that there was one cabine de luxe, which, as most 
of the refugees possessed no spare money, might 
possibly be still available. Producing our prec- 
ious store of English gold, we offered to pay it out 
if that cabin could be ours. To our joy, the man 
agreed to reserve it for us, and thus encouraged, 
we got through the hours until eleven p. m., when 
we were allowed to go on board. 

My mother lay down immediately and slept for 
an hour, while I sat at the door of our large cir- 

54 



cular cabin and watched the passengers assemble. 
There were many schoolgirls and English families 
with nurses and babies, and American tourists 
and nondescript youths. They came and came in 
ever increasing numbers — it was like a vast flight 
and gave one a sense of panic. The sailors 
brought more and more deck chairs, more and 
more luggage was piled on, and still the stream of 
people continued. There was almost no sound, 
the silence was micanny, I could see the smooth 
Ostende beach stretching out dimly in the dis- 
tance. 

I witnessed many partings that night — one 
struck me especially. A group of young men — 
whether English or Belgians, I could not de- 
termine — stood in a large circle, very solemnly, 
while one after the other of them appeared to 
make a kind of speech, then half of the number 
came on board the boat, while the other half re- 
mained on shore in gloomy resignation. 

The passage across to England was weird be- 
yond words — between snatches of sleep, we would 
start up to find our cabin flooded with light. Our 
boat, which went out in complete blackness, was 
almost constantly the target of powerful search- 
lights from other vessels. Once I caught sight 
of a splendid ship, brilliantly illuminated from 
bow to stern— a phantom ship, it seemed to me, 
for I was dazed with sleep. Fear of mines haunt- 

55 



ed us whenever we awoke, when we slept, we 
dreamed of huge armoured cruisers bearing down 
on us. It was a night never to be forgotten, like 
the preceding one on the Ehine. 

We entered Dover harbour at four a. m. We 
could distinguish the familiar landmarks — the 
white cliffs, the castle, the Admiralty Pier — 
Dover had always been a favourite stopping-place 
of ours, and therefore it looked homelike even at 
this unearthly hour and under these abnormal 
conditions. We hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, 
and then took one of the waiting trains for 
London together with our seven hundred com- 
panions, who by daylight looked still more hunted 
than they had by night. ' As for ourselves, we felt 
a hundred years old. 

As we rushed through the lovely English 
country, in spite of our great fatigue, we were, 
somehow, a little comforted. Here were no 
military patrols, the line was not guarded, every- 
thing looked serene and undisturbed. When we 
reached our small London hotel, this sense of 
tranquility was still further strengthened. We 
were conducted to the apartment that had been 
reserved for us — a charming third-floor facing 
dear old Cork street — and in this retreat we re- 
mained for more than two weeks, scarcely ventur- 
ing out except to do necessary shopping, since — 
almost before we could get our breath after our 

56 



terrible journey — England had declared war upon 
Germany ! 

From that moment our misery was increased 
fourfold. That England and Germany should be 
at each other's throats, was positive agony to us, 
we could rejoice at no victory which would lay 
either nation low, it was a brothers' fight — a 
hideous, horrible mistake ! England and Germany 
belonged together by every tradition, by every 
dictate of expediency as well as of good feeling. 
That the two foremost civilizing countries should 
be striving against each other — England fighting 
for Servia and Russia, and Germany waging a 
desperate war against a hundred enemies — that 
England, I say (for I will not believe that Ger- 
many would ever have attacked her), should have 
allowed herself to be involved in such a struggle — 
with such allies — was almost more than we — as 
friends of both — had the strength to endure. 

I know that England was in a serious condition, 
that civil war threatened, that there was trouble 
in many quarters — I know also that it was hoped 
a war would unite the nation — as it did — ^but at 
what a cost ! 

Hatred had to be stirred up against Germany — 
a hatred that already existed to a certain extent 
and that was chiefly caused by envy of German 
enterprise, of German commercial success which 



57 



interfered with British sea trade, that had hither- 
to reigned supreme. 

As careful observers of both countries during 
many years, we have come to the conclusion that 
the chief difference between their methods of busi- 
ness and the chief advantage on Germany's side, 
is her infinite capacity for taking pains. Germany 
almost never loses a customer because of careless- 
ness or lack of effort; England frequently loses 
one, owing to her indifference — her certainty of 
superiority. In the long run, this counts heavily 
against her, in spite of the fact that she has 
always possessed the immense advantage of at- 
tracting people irresistibly to her. Americans 
and Germans particularly, have clung to her with 
almost pathetic devotion, the Kaiser, himself, has 
hankered after her, as have his sons. We, our- 
selves, saw two of them last summer paying an 
incognito visit to Edinburgh, and their delight — 
their real enthusiasm was most striking. English 
literature, English history, English cathedrals — 
where can these be matched and who loves them 
better than the intelligent foreigner? But let him 
beware of cherishing the idea that he is really at 
home there, for in that case, he will inevitably be 
made to feel the iron barrier which separates the 
born Britisher from the alien, however sympa- 
thetic, and this applies to the American as well as 
to the German. 

58 



The English, as a rule, have no real affection for 
any other nation — not even for America, though 
they treat Americans with great consideration — 
herein lies their strength and their weakness. They 
are deeply patriotic, they see but one side, they are 
not tormented by divided allegiance in any sphere, 
they know that they have had a great past, that 
they have noble traditions to sustain, they are 
convinced that no other traditions are half so 
noble, and, on the whole, the world agrees with 
them. But they will not bear a word of criticism, 
they are intensely proud, intolerant and obstinate, 
they like their ease, they are not hard workers, 
moreover, their constitutional shyness makes it 
very difficult for them to recover lost ground. 
And yet, we go on loving them — we, of the alien 
nations — or rather, we love their adorable coun- 
try, which tugs at our very heartstrings ! Whore 
else are there such churches, such private places, 
such gardens, such entrancing walks between 
hedges? What other country has produced a 
Shakespeare, a Burke, a Walter Scott — oh, be- 
loved England, may you live forever. 

But not that England which we saw on the sec- 
ond of August and afterwards — that strange, 
distorted England of Asquith-Kitchener creation. 

A strict censorship had been placed upon 
the press, which consequently printed noth- 
ing but the most inflammatory articles against 

59 



Germany. False reports were circulated by 
the leading papers, we could hardly glance 
out of our windows without catching sight 
of sickening head-lines, such as these: 
''Forty-Five Thousand Germans Slaughtered 
Before Liege;" ''Two Whole Battalions of 
Austrians Completely Wiped Out!" 

In short, the noble English press, hitherto our 
pride and delight, had suddenly turned into a 
monster of unfairness and bloodthirstiness. 

All this was done, of course, in order to raise 
recruits, and at first the public was deluded and 
cocksure of speedy victory; by degrees, however, 
their spirit changed and before we left, it was 
painful to see their dejection. We were in touch 
with many different classes — bankers, profes- 
sional men, trades people, etc. — all old friends. 
They did not seem until the very end to realize 
their danger, they underrated their enemy owing 
to the persistent misrepresentations of the news- 
papers. I could not help feeling that it had been 
particularly easy to deceive the English, because 
as a people, they had been used to the truth. Lies 
had always been obnoxious to them, fair play had 
been one of their dearest traditions. Lord Kitch- 
ener's tactics, therefore, which no doubt were 
necessary in this emergency, were accepted at 
first in good faith, but when subsequently, they 
were found out, a serious reaction set in. There 



was no more elation over the immediate exterm- 
ination of Germany, there was no more talk about 
giving the Kaiser a lesson. People were intensely 
anxious and depressed, it was felt that England 
was in the face of a stupendous danger. And not 
only that; it was felt — and the feeling was ex- 
pressed repeatedly to us in words — that even if 
Germany and Austria should be crushed, there 
would be Russia to reckon with. It was realized 
too late that Germany, with all her faults (to 
English eyes), was yet a safer and more civilized 
neighbour than the Empire of the Czar. For cen- 
turies, Germany and Austria had been the bul- 
wark against the Slavs, if that bulwark were re- 
moved, France and England would have to as- 
sume the burden that Germany and Austria had 
borne for so long. 

To distract our minds during these weeks of 
waiting which seemed interminable to us, we tried 
various expedients. Our first choice would have 
been the National Gallery, for there we might have 
found temporary solace with our beloved pictures, 
but the National Gallery was closed in conse- 
quence of Suffragette outrages. "We therefore 
visited the Royal Academy, which, to our surprise, 
was still open. We were anxious to see Sargent's 
portrait of Mr. Henry James, about which we had 
heard so many conflicting opinions. We had a 
faint hope that the novelist's kindly smile — that 

6i 



smile which we had known so well for so long — 
might give us heart at this fearful crisis. The 
portrait was said to be life-like, in which case, the 
smile would be there. It was not there, however ; 
instead, the expression was one of intense mental 
and physical suffering. We turned away in keen 
disappointment, this was not our old friend, this 
was a stranger, whom we did not know even by 
name. 

Another day, we drove out to Cricklewood to 
visit the Home of Rest for Horses to which my 
mother had contributed. This proved, indeed, a 
Home of Rest to us, since for the first time since 
that dreadful 31st of July, we were able to get our 
minds off the war. We fed the happy animals 
with apples and sugar, and examined their com- 
fortable retreat with real pleasure. My mother's 
particular favourite was called Max, and his great 
accomplishment was that of ringing the bell for 
meals. I liked Lord Wolseley's old charger, a pen- 
sioner for life, but they were all dears. As they 
stretched their intelligent heads out of the win- 
dows of their loose boxes — whole rows of heads — 
we forgot everything in our delight. We were 
not allowed to leave, however, without one sin- 
ister reminder of the war, we heard from a groom, 
namely, that three horses had been shot the night 
before. 

"To save them from being seized for the 

62 



service, ' ' the man explained and we turned away, 
shuddering. 

At length the unhappy London days came to an 
end through the kindness of our nearest male 
relatives, who, by a piece of good fortune which 
was almost incredible, chanced to be in England 
for the first time in many years. They gave us 
one of their cabins on the Olympic, which was 
finally announced to sail on August 22d. "We did 
not get off, however, until the morning of the 23d, 
owing to the sudden departure of a large troop 
ship, which had to have the right of way. It 
made us actually ill to look at the smart British 
soldiers and to think of what might be in store for 
them! 

This was our last sight of that England which 
had been a second home to us for so many happy 
years, and, like our farewells to Austria and Ger- 
many, it cost us bitter pangs — pangs which the 
non-traveller cannot in the least understand. 

The voyage, although devoid of alarming inci- 
dents, was, nevertheless, horribly uncanny. Every- 
thing was closed soon after four, blinds were 
drawn, iron shutters were pulled down, and even 
behind these, the electric lamps on deck were care- 
fully darkened. Not a ray of light escaped from 
the great liner except what was absolutely neces- 
sary for navigation. 

Meanwhile, behind the darkened portholes, most 

63 



of the passengers indulged in their accustomed 
pleasures; they played cards, danced and flirted 
as if there had been no such thing as war either on 
land or at sea. The women arrayed themselves in 
costly dresses of the most extreme fashion, the 
men encouraged them in this, and went on betting 
on the run ; together, they danced the tango in the 
saloons and even on deck; in short, they behaved, 
in our opinion, with revolting flippancy consider- 
ing the tragic circumstances. And not only that — 
by persistently ignoring the agony of a whole 
continent, as well as our own actual danger, and 
by pursuing their petty pastimes in the face of 
these things, they missed an experience that could 
scarcely be duplicated. 

The great ship, closely shrouded and muffled, 
rushing along in the darkness like some blinded 
creature, conscious of threatening danger and 
straining every nerve to avoid it; the horrible 
wireless messages telling of death and disaster 
constantly intercepted, the feeling that however 
swiftly we were travelling, we could not escape 
from the immense misery that we had left behind 
us — all this and much more that is inexpressible 
was suggested by the voyage. 

But the majority of the passengers failed to 
see it — their motto seemed to be : 

''On with the dance! let joy be unconfined." 

When we reached shore, our thankfulness was 

64 



beyond all words, even the dock looked beautiful 
to us, and the custom house officers, instead of 
being enemies, became real friends. They treated 
us with the most sympathetic courtesy. 

As we drove across the city and finally passed 
under the great Metropolitan tower, we drew a 
long breath of relief; humanly speaking, we were 
in safety at last after one whole month of con- 
tinual anxiety, for unlike most Americans, we 
had not felt secure in England. It had been one 
long agony, and now we were home again, fai* 
away from the terrible fighting, beyond the reach 
of hostile cruisers or airships, though not beyond 
the reach — alas ! — of sickening heartache for all 
the suffering multitudes in stricken Europe ! 

In the course of the last month we had been 
forced to leap many difficult hurdles ; the first was 
the making up our minds to leave Bayreuth, the 
second, our decision to abandon our luggage, the 
third, our reluctant, final departure from Ger- 
many, which involved breaking off all communi- 
cation with many beloved friends. Hurdle after 
hurdle in rapid succession confronted us in Lon- 
don — difficulties about money, serious problems 
in regard to necessary medicine from Paris, in- 
numerable desperate complications in connection 
with our lost luggage — and over and above all 
these, there was the dreadful hurdle of the Eng- 
lish hatred against Germany. We surmounted 

65 



these obstacles with what courage and skill we 
could muster; then came the voyage, which was 
one huge hurdle in itself. 

Having leapt it, we drew, as I said a long 
breath — no more hurdles now, only rest and what- 
ever peace we could hope for. But we were mis- 
taken ; in the midst of inspiring tokens of faithful 
love with which our friends literally enveloped us 
the instant we touched American soil, we beheld, 
looming up ominously in front of us, a cruel 
hurdle — the last, but perhaps the worst of all. The 
American press had taken the English point of 
view, it vied with England, indeed, in vilifying 
Germany and the Germans. Receiving no direct 
news at first, except through English channels, it 
had, as a body, accepted the English version un- 
conditionally. Germany and Germanj^ only was 
blamed, all other belligerants were praised and 
believed in to the fullest extent. Belgians, Rus- 
sians, French and Servians were brave and dis- 
interested; Germans, on the other hand, were 
treacherous and brutal. Atrocities were reported 
as having been committed solely by the Ger- 
mans, whereas the Allies were given a clean sheet 
in every respect. The Kaiser was responsible for 
all the bloodshed, the other European rulers were 
noble, peace-loving individuals. 

Utterly exhausted and sick at heart, we gazed 
at this last hurdle — had we the strength to at- 

66 



tempt it? A great wave of homesickness swept 
over us ; for the first time, we seriously questioned 
our decision, had we remained in Germany we 
could at least have avoided this conflict, a con- 
flict with friends, most of whom would inevitably 
follow the lead of the press. What could we do 
against so many, what would our voice avail in 
this roar of hostility! We decided to retreat to 
our beloved Pomeroy Place, it would shelter us, 
it would comfort us, under its old roof we could 
rest. 

But no, we could not rest there either, for even 
in the peaceful village we were surrounded by the 
same determined hostility, the same preconceived 
opinion was held almost universally, the same 
ignorance existed of anything but the one side. 

In desperation, I seized my pen, one feeble pro- 
test I would make on Germany's behalf. 

Americans are proverbially fair-minded, they do 
not follow the lead of any land — not even that of 
England — with blind confidence. Let them reflect 
upon Germany's record, her intellectual eminence, 
her splendid part in helping suffering himianity, 
her music, which has inspired and comforted 
thousands in all lands, her poetry, which for depth 
and tenderness can scarcely be surpassed, her 
science and philosophy, her enlightened system of 
hygienics, her fine mercantile marine, which has 
carried so many of us safely across the ocean, her 

67 



gallant army, which is not daunted by a whole 
world of enemies, her patient professors, who 
have laboured so unselfishly for the good of all 
mankind, her skilled and honest artisans, than 
whom there is not a finer class of men anywhere, 
her great artists in all lines, who have added so 
much to the joy of nations, finally, her princes, 
who from the Emperor to the obscurest ruler of 
the tiniest principality, are distinguished among 
European royalties for their culture, their devo- 
tion to duty, their clean lives. 

And now consider, are all these people 
scoundrels — are they liars and brutes, are they 
enemies of progress ? 

Is it not conceivable that there may be another 
side? 

Claee Benedict, 
Pomeroy Place, Cooperstown, New York. 



68 



APPENDIX 
Well Treated in Germany 

To THE Editor OF The Evening Post: 

Sir: We wish to state in the most positive and public 
way possible that during our entire journey from Bayreuth, 
Bavaria, to Herbesthal, the German frontier, we met with 
nothing but kindness and courtesy from the officials, the 
people, and our German fellow-travellers. The only bad 
treatment we met with occurred in Belgium. As we were 
two ladies alone, without influence, and as we left Bayreuth 
on the very day war was declared, this testimony may help 
to convince all fair-minded Americans that the Germans 
are not brutes and ruffians. 

Clara Woolson Benedict. 
Clare Benedict. 

Cooperstown, N. Y., September 4. 

From the New York Evening Post of September 12th, 
1914. 



A Human Note from Bavaria 

To the Editor of The Evening Post: 

Sir: The enclosed cards, which have just reached me, are 
from a merchant in Bavaria with whom we have lodged 
for a number of seasons, while attending the Bayreuth 
festivals. On our departure from there this year, a few 
hours before war was declared, we asked our landlord to 
forward to our London address German newspapers con- 
taining accounts of the subsequent musical performances, 
which he promised to do. Needless to say, we received 
none of them, owing to the immediate closing of the German 
frontier. 

It seems to me very touching the way in which this man — 
even in the midst of his own great anxiety, has patiently 
tried to do what I asked him — not once but twice — remem- 
bering the American address when the English one failed. 
It seems to me also to show what admirable order must 

69 



prevail in Germany at the present crisis that newspapers 
and cards of no value should have been returned to this 
obscure merchant within a month of their having been 
dispatched, and at a time when the postal service must 
have been seriously crippled and short-handed. 

Clare Benedict. 
Cooperstown, N. Y., September 24. 

(TraTislation.) 

Bayreuth, Aug. 3rd. 
Ladies worthy of love: 

In the hope that you have reached London safely, I have 
to-day entrusted to the post the desired printed matter 
(2 Berlin and 2 Bayreuth newspapers). It was almost 
impossible to send them, but upon inquiry I find that the 
post to England is still open. 

Because of the supervening war conditions, the Wagner 
festival had to cease entirely, which caused great loss. The 
hour of fate has struck for Germany. God grant that we 
may live through this heavy time and that we may reach 
victory. 

With the heartiest greetings, 
Oscar, Anna, Walter, Hetzel, Godmother Lutz, 
AND The Canary Bird, Hansel. 



Bayreuth, Sept. 5, 1914. 
Honored Ladies : 

As you will see from the enclosed post card, everything 
forwarded to London, as you requested (newspapers, etc.), 
has come back here. [In reality nothing went beyond the 
German frontier. The newspapers and card were returned 
to Herr Hetzel from the German Post Office] and I now 
inquire politely of you whether I shall still send them 
there? In any case, we should be very glad to receive a 
sign of life from you, so that we may know how you are and 
how you reached home. 

Unfortunately the gauntlet of challenge has been thrown 
down before the German people. Without hesitation, we 
picked it up and now we are fighting for our people, and 
fatherland, for house and hearth, for wife and child. My 
brother — as First Lieutenant — is leader of a company in 
the enemy's land. With best greetings, 

Oscar and Anna, Hetzel, Godmother and Walter. 

From, the New York Evening Post of October 3rd, 1914. 

70 



Bruno Urban, His Story 

HE LOOKS AFTER TRUNKS EVEN IN WAR TIME 

And this Is by Way of Acknowledgment, That the Old 
German Porter at the Hotel du Nord, in Cologne, Ful- 
filled His Word in the Unimportant Matter of Lost Bag- 
gage. 

[Special Correspondence of The Evening Post.] 

CooPERSTOWN, N. Y., October 9. — Bruno Urban, who is a 
hotel porter in Cologne, is one of those persons who sees 
no difference in his job in peace or in war. Whether Bruno 
Urban kept on looking after trunks after millions of men 
had marched to battle, doesn't seem to matter much, rela- 
tively, in the news from Europe. But Bruno's story is 
worth the telling, just to keep the record straight. 

Clare Benedict, now safe here, reached Cologne on the 
morning of August 1. War had been declared. Bruno 
Urban was looking after trunks at the Hotel du Nord, as 
always. Briefly, Miss Benedict finally got safely to the 
United States, without her trunks, and after two months 
she has heard from Bruno. 

"We reached Cologne at seven o'clock," Miss Benedict 
said, "after a terrible night spent on the floor of the car, 
together with hundreds of other refugees. We were advised 
by the railway officials to proceed immediately on our jour- 
ney to England, without waiting for our luggage, which 
we knew had been detained at Frankfort, owing to the gen- 
eral movement of the troops toward the frontiers. 

"With only a few minutes in which to make up our minds, 
we decided to entrust our precious luggage tickets to the 
old hall porter of the Hotel du Nord, whom we had known 
casually for a good many years. This porter, Bruno Urban 
by name, promised to get our trunks from the station as 
soon as they should arrive, and to keep them locked up at 
the hotel until they could be sent to England. He also 
promised to send us word the very moment that he secured 
the luggage. 

War is Declared. 

"When, however, three days later, England's declaration 
of war upon Germany made all communication with Cologne 
impossible, we realized that our trust in Bruno Urban's 
integrity would indeed be put to the test. Officials of the 

71 



London forwarding agency filled our minds with horrible 
doubts — no, not exactly doubts, for we clung to our faith 
in Urban — but their suggestions gave us many wakeful 
nights. They said, for instance, that, as we had not had 
time to speak to the United States Consul or even to the 
proprietor of the Hotel du Nord, Bruno Urban, being in 
sole possession of the luggage ticket, might without danger 
of detection sell or otherwise dispose of the valuable effects 
in our trunks and then declare — should any one ever turn 
up to claim the luggage — that he had never received it. 
Another suggestion was that Urban might empty our trunks 
of their contents and substitute worthless things of the 
same weight. 

"In short, the English prejudice against the Germans — 
even in this unimportant matter — was so determined that 
it took all our resolution to induce them to accept a small 
reward for Urban to be given to him by the courier whom 
they intended eventually to send out to collect the luggage. 

"Then followed our voyage to America. We heard noth- 
ing from Cologne in spite of repeated inquiries on our part, 

"Our hearts began to sink, not so much because of the 
probable loss of much that was absolutely irreplaceable, but 
rather because of the dreadful blow to our confidence in 
Bruno Urban. We had staked much on Germany's truth 
and honor; we had stood up for her boldly in the face of 
overwhelming hostility. In the great stress of our feeling, 
it seemed to us that this man — Bruno Urban — stood for 
Germany, that Germany which was being so bitterly assailed 
by the sister nations, and especially by England. 

"When, therefore, the follovdng communications finally 
reached us, their very simplicity put us to shame. Urban 
had kept his promise to us as a matter of course, and had 
then done his best to relieve our anxiety. When his two 
postcards were returned to him stamped 'Not transmitted 
owing to state of war,' he had then waited until a chance 
offered itself of sending us a letter by hand, nor is there 
in his three simple epistles so much as a hint of any trouble 
experienced by him in the carrying out of our instructions. 
He makes no bid for reward, he takes no advantage of the 
extraordinary circumstances. 'Bruno Urban, Porter, Hotel 
du Nord,' — those words remain in my grateful memory." 

The communications from Bruno Urban were as follows: 

Postcard No. 1: 

Aug. 2d, 1914. 
I beg to inform you that I have taken in my possession 

72 



four pieces of your luggage, and hope to get the other one 
in shortest time as possible. 

Yours very respectfully, 

Bruno Urban. 

Postcard No. 2 was: 

Cologne, 
5 August, 1914. 
I am very glad to be able to inform you that I have been 
able to take your five trunks into my keeping at the Hotel 
du Nord. 

As soon as any route is open, I will send you the same at 
once. Should your address be changed, please let me know 
of it is as soon as possible. 

Respectfully, 

Bruno Urban. 

The letter was as follows: 

Cologne, 10 Sept., 1914. 
Very honored Lady! 

I have an opportunity to send you this letter by Mr, T. K. 
Wilmerding, from America, for, as you will see from the 
enclosed postcards that they were not sent on. 

I am very glad that I could get your trunks and take 
them in my charge. I will await your decision, until there 
may be a chance to send you the trunks in the quickest way. 

Respectfully ! 
Bruno Urban. 
Porter, Hotel du Nord. 

From the New York Evening Post of October 10th, 1914. 



A Word for the German- Americans 

To THE Editor of The Evening Post: 

Sir: A veritable avalanche of sympathy, both practical 
and sentimental, has been poured upon the Belgian suffer- 
ers; almost as much has been showered upon the French; 
the English have received their full share to overflowing; 
even the Russians have not been forgotten. There is one 
class of sufferers, however, who, as far as I know, have 

73 



received nothing but cold looks and scarcely veiled hostility. 
I mean that company of native-born Germans and those of 
German parentage vv^ho have made this country their home, 
in some instances for many years, and vv^ho, nevertheless, 
cannot forget the land of their extraction. 

These people, to be sure, have not been exposed to phy- 
sical suffering, but they have suffered mentally in a way 
that few Americans stop to realize. Their position, since 
the outbreak of the war, has been indeed a very cruel one; 
they have been forced to hear their country defamed on 
every side; they have hardly been able to glance at a news- 
paper without seeing insulting headlines; they have found 
themselves, in short, through no fault of their own, out- 
casts in a hitherto friendly country, suspected characters, 
merely because they belonged to the great German nation. 

It happens that during the past two months I have been 
in rather close touch with many of the so-called German- 
Americans — with university professors, men of science, 
artists, lawyers, musicians, sea captains, teachers, mer- 
chants, men of leisure — and their attitude has been uni- 
formly dignified, though absolutely despairing. Some of 
them have been made physically ill by the atmosphere of 
bitter hostility; others have gone to work desperately to com- 
bat a thousand slanders; others again have retreated within 
themselves, cut to the heart by the unexpected and unac- 
countable defection of old friends. This terrible war will 
have on its conscience, besides the larger crimes, the very 
real if smaller one of having broken up countless cherished 
friendships, of having wiped out as it were vidth a great 
black sponge all sense of gratitude, all memories of a united 
past. 

As I am of the small company of Americans of English 
descent who sympathize most heartily with Germany and 
Austria in their gallant struggle, I can appreciate from 
actual personal experience the real agony of spirit that our 
German and Austrian citizens have been called upon to 
endure, and in my opinion they have exhibited splendid 
mettle. In spite of all risks as to their future standing in 
the community, in spite of (in many cases) serious financial 
difficulties, they have, almost without exception, supported 
their fatherland manfully, using the only weapons at their 
command, the pen and the pamphlet, and spending their 
money with truly reckless liberality. They stand practically 
alone, just as Germany stands alone, but like Germany they 
maintain an undaunted front. Who of us would have liked 
them better had they denied their fatherland; who of us 
does not admire them for their courage? I for one wish to 

74 



pay them my tribute of profound admiration. It seems to 
me that we can ill afford to lose such citizens. 

Clare Benedict. 
Cooperstown, N. Y., October 31. 

From the New York Evening Post of November 1th, 1914. 



The Kaiser 

An American Woman's Tribute to a Great Personality. 

To THE Editor of The Sun — Sir: The personality of the 
German Emperor is so compelling, the one really great per- 
sonality among the European combatants, that one can 
easily imagine both the relief and consternation which even 
his temporary withdrawal from the scene of action would 
produce in the opposing camps. 

And is not this the moment to speak a word of sympathy 
and admiration for the man who, in spite of an indomitable 
will and an inherited belief in his own mission, must have 
his hours of intense dejection and sickness of heart? The 
world, outside of the two German speaking countries, hates 
him; looks upon him, indeed, as a tyrant, an evildoer, the 
chief instigator of this cruel, unspeakable war. To a highly 
intelligent, proud and sensitive man like the Emperor Wil- 
liam, this hatred, so unexpected, and from the German point 
of view, so undeserved, must have been extremely hard to 
bear added to all else that he has had to endure, even if with 
characteristic gallantry he refuses to admit that the wound 
hurts. 

And now another enemy attacks him, this time not one 
of the seven nations, but an older enemy still, disease. Should 
the Emperor die at this crisis there would inevitably be a 
revulsion of feeling in his favor on the part of his enemies, 
and he would receive, dead, that post-mortem praise which 
so many people love to bestow on those whom in life they 
have abused. 

May I, as an American who has lived much in Germany 
and who knows and loves the country and the people, pro- 
nounce my small word of praise for the Emperor William 
while he still lives? 

Clare Benedict. 

New York, December 10. 

From the New York Sun of December 11th, 1914. 

75 



Christmas Gratitude to Germany 

To THE Editor of The Sun — Sir: In the midst of this 
persistent vilification of everything German, the Kaiser, the 
Government, the army, the professors, the mode of thinking, 
may I point out that there is one German practice which we 
should be very loath to relinquish; I mean that of the Christ- 
mas tree. This charming custom, so deeply rooted in the 
poetic fancy of the Germanic people, was introduced into 
England by the late Prince Consort, and having received 
the seal of English approval, soon passed over to America, 
where it has remained ever since to the pleasure of all con- 
cerned. 

This will be a tragic Christmas for the inhabitants of the 
fatherland, but I doubt not that trees, large and small, will 
be lighted as usual in every household, even if countless be- 
loved faces are absent from the family circles. 

Can we not, at least on Christmas Eve, give a grateful 
thought to the nation which has added so much to the joys 
of childhood by its fairy tales, its Santa Claus and its Christ- 
mas trees? 

Clare Benedict. 

New York, December 24. 

From the New York Sun of December 25th, 1914. 



On a Little Portrait of the Emperor 
Francis Joseph 

Purchased at the German Charity Bazaar. 

We saw it at the German Charity Bazaar, and no sooner 
had we seen it than a great longing seized us to possess it. 
This longing drew us back irresistibly to the remote stall 
where it was exhibited — a little gilt-framed aquarelle, 
but touched with the unmistakable touch of life. 

So lifelike was it, indeed, that when presently we put it 
in the place of honour on our mantelpiece (for we trusted 
no one except ourselves to carry home our newly acquired 
treasure), the impression was overwhelming. Involun- 
tarily, we lowered our voices — was the dear old Emperor 
actually with us? Could he hear our smothered exclama- 
tions? 

76 



The picture, which represents him in profile, wearing his 
military cap and well-known uniform, must have been done 
at some fortunate moment when the monarch was either 
looking at or listening to something that pleased him, for 
the wrinkles about the kind old eyes denote that the smile 
is not far off, the alert figure almost moves — in short, the 
thing is a little masterpiece! 

As we gaze at it by every light and from every possible 
point of view, recollections throng upon us of those count- 
less occasions when, in his brilliant Vienna and elsewhere, 
we have seen those same wrinkles preceding a smile or the 
same characteristic droop of the head — that head which has 
held itself so gallantly for eighty-four difficult years! We 
recall exhibitions of modern pictures where the Emperor 
made the rounds patiently, inquiring about each artist with 
courteous and never-failing interest; or concerts, where, al- 
though not musical himself, he listened, nevertheless, with 
painstaking attention. Or again how often have we seen 
him at great military functions or driving to and from his 
beloved Schonbruun — and always there was the same punc- 
tilious and yet kindly response to the jubilant salutations of 
his people. 

Other memories steal upon us of the brave face set with 
suffering, but these darker memories have no part in our 
little portrait, which positively throws out radiance and 
that serene wisdom which distinguishes the best kind of old 
age. 

Without doubt this picture belonged to some one who 
loved it dearly, the frame is not new and there are indications 
that it has hung on some wall for a long time. Probably it 
is one of those obscure yet heroic sacrifices of which the 
Austro-German Bazaar could show so many — where people 
have presented their very best without a word — without a 
thought of applause. 

At least, dear giver, be assured that your little picture 
has found in us devoted worshippers, we appreciate its real 
artistic qualities, we know and love the gracious original, 
above all, we admire the real self-abnegation, with which, 
having once possessed such a treasure, you could — even for 
the best of causes — have parted with it to a stranger! 

Clare Benedict. 

From the New York Staats-Zeitung of January 11th, 1915. 



77 



Francis Josepli to tlie Austrian Chil- 
dren 

The Aged Emperor's Letter Asking the Prayers of the 
Innocent. 

To THE Editor of the Sun — Sir: At a moment when all 
Austrian hearts are beating with anxiety, when the gallant 
and prolonged defence of Przemysl has, according to Petro- 
grad, at last been beaten down and the fair Austrian coun- 
try is perhaps exposed to the savage inroads of the Cossacks, 
may I, as a sincere and deeply attached friend of Austria- 
Hungary, offer to my country people a translation of the 
beautiful and touching letter which the Emperor Francis 
Joseph recently addressed to the children of his lands? 
Perhaps, as the aged monarch seems to think, the prayers 
of the innocent may preserve the country from all danger. 
That this may indeed be so is the heartfelt wish of 

Clare Benedict. 

Lakewood, N. J., March 23. 



Translation of the Emperor Francis Joseph's Letter. 

To the Dear Children of Our Empire: If, on the threshold 
of the grave and in such a serious hour, I turn to you, 
beloved children, it is for more than one reason. Once you 
were the joy, the consolation — yes, often in the darkest 
moments of my long life the only consolation and the only 
joy — of j'our Emperor-King. When I saw you, a sunbeam 
fell once again across the shadow of my existence. It is 
you, children, who are nearest to the heart of your Emperor- 
King, the flowers of my kingdom, the ornament of my 
peoples, the blessing of the future. 

But it is not only to your Emperor-King that you are 
nearest, but to One before Whom the mightiest of this 
world are helpless creatures, God our Lord. In your eyes 
the light of the creation morn still shines, about you is still 
Paradise — is still Heaven. God is all powerful, in His hand 
lies the fate of all peoples. Everything bows to His will, 
by Him the stars and mankind are directed. That this al- 
mighty hand of God may guard and keep Austria-Hungary, 
giving her the victory over her many enemies and strength- 
ening her in victory to the honor and glory of God — this is 
the only wish which remains to me after a life rich in 

78 



calamity. It was my wish when I ascended the throne of 
my fathers — so young and full of hope — it will be the wish 
which perhaps will soon be on my dying lips as the last word 
of love and care for my realm and for my people. 

May God direct all things as He wills, we human beings 
can do nothing without Him. As you, dear children, stand 
nearest to God, your Emperor-King begs you to pray that 
He may bless us and bestow His grace upon our cause. 
God grants the prayers of innocence, because He loves it, 
He recognizes in it His own image. Therefore cease not to 
pray with clasped hands, you little ones and you smallest 
ones of all. 

If the children of the realm pray for their Fatherland, 
I know that all will be well with our star. Then you will 
have a part in the day of victory and honor of the Empire. 
You have called down the blessing upon our colors, upon 
our army. 

Dear children, do not forget the empire to which — on 
earth — you belong, or its old Emperor. 

From the New York Sun of March 24, 1915. 



Exploits of tlie German Sea Rovers 
Recall the Tales of Cooper 

HOW COOPER WOULD HAVE APPRECIATED 
THE GERMAN SEA ROVERS 

To THE Editor of The Evening Post — Sir: As a great- 
grandniece of James Fenimore Cooper, I should like to pay 
a tribute to the gallant and rapidly diminishing company 
of German sea rovers — the brilliant Emden, the intrepid 
little Dresden, the mysterious Karlsruhe, the ingenious Prinz 
Eitel Friedrich, not to mention Admiral von Spec's heroic 
and ill-fated cruisers. The daring and skill of their com- 
manders would have appealed strongly to Cooper, for noth- 
ing was so dear to his heart as a ship fighting against heavy 
odds, and yet maintaining an undaunted front. These so- 
called sea raiders have undubitably fulfilled both conditions, 
and their exploits have awakened in all romantic — and may 
I not say in all chivalrous? — minds feeling of sincere sym- 
pathy and admiration. 

As an American, who loves the sea and ships, and as a 
great-grandniece of one who has described them with per- 

79 



haps unequalled skill and spirit, it gives me great pleasure 
to express, however inadequately, my personal appreciation 
of what seems to me a very notable page in marine history. 
I take the more pleasure in so doing because I know that 
Germany has always been extremely fond of Cooper's 
works, and by this I do not mean the well-known love of 
German school-boys for the "Leatherstocking Tales," but I 
refer more especially to the loving and discriminating study 
of his works by German scholars of eminence. From two of 
these gentlemen I have myself recently received striking 
proof of the truth of my assertion. Allow me to quote from 
their own words: 

"The Travel Sketches which grew out of Cooper's Euro- 
pean sojourn have always had for me the greatest possible 
value as sources of history, for they present conditions which 
have long since passed away, and the pictures of these con- 
ditions possess not only actuality, but absolute authenticity. 
What a contrast, for instance, when I visited the large 
Lorraine quarter of the town of Berne and recalled that 
Cooper had known it as one single country estate, while 
the bridges across the Aare had not even been dreamed of. 
Cooper made all his journeys by carriage, in the same luxuri- 
ous fashion as Byron had done shortly before. The per- 
sons whom the celebrated American learned to know repre- 
sent likewise a bygone age, and for that very reason it is 
the more instructive to read what he relates of Louis 
Philippe and his family in France or of Grand Duke Leo- 
pold II of Tuscany and Napoleon's mother and brothers and 
sisters. In comparing Cooper's Travel Sketches with the 
Travel Sketches of Washington Irving, one would, without 
doubt, concede greater swing and deeper poetic intuition 
to those of the latter author, but, on the other hand. Cooper 
invariably gives us truthful and vivid descriptions, which 
once read recur again and again to the mind, just as do 
the world-famous novels." 

It may be of interest to add that the writer of these lines, 
Prof. Friedrich Nippold, a renowned theologian and a 
scholar of European fame, has founded the American part 
of his "Handbook of Ecclesiastical History" on the religious 
opinions of Cooper, which are to be found everywhere scat- 
tered through his works. 

Herr Rudolf Drescher, another Cooper student and dis- 
ciple, writes me as follows: 

"To Fenimore Cooper I owe so very much, innumerable 
pleasant and delightful hours, reading and studying his 
books, which I have done from my earliest youth until now, 
the age of forty-five. His religious and moral point of view 

80 



gave me a direction, having been a guide to me throughout 
my life. His works are my best friends; again and again I 
range in spirit with dear old Natty Bumppo, the unequalled 
Leatherstocking (whose silent laugh I seem to hear), and 
his red and white companions through the woods, or I am 
ashore and afloat with Miles Wallingford, or I have the 
sweetest female companion in the mental presence of charm- 
ing Lucy Hardinge, one of the noblest, loveliest, and purest 
female characters in the literature of the whole world." 

Clare Benedict. 
Lakewood, N. J., March 22. 

From the New York Evening Post of March 27, 1915. 



Germany's Spirit of Sacrifice 

England's declared intention of starving out Germany has 
naturally caused grave anxiety — not to say distress of 
mind — among the friends of Germany in this country. But 
there is another side to the picture, in which the friends of 
Germany, of whom I am one, can take the greatest pleasure 
and comfort. I mean the spectacle of the heroic and labori- 
ous efforts of the German people to avert national disaster 
in the shape of actual or threatening starvation. I feel 
sure that this will prove one of the most wonderful and 
wholly admirable chapters in the history of the European 
conflict. One thinks of the countless precious flower-gardens, 
which will be turned, without a sigh, into vegetable patches; 
of the wild and stony moorlands, which will be patiently 
converted into tilled ground; of the ingenious and persever- 
ing economics and contrivances by means of which the de- 
voted housewives of the Fatherland will manage still farther 
to reduce their consumption of war luxuries, already so 
carefully regulated. 

Everything will be done systematically and with due re- 
gard for the needs of the weak and ailing; nothing will be 
left to chance, every one will cheerfully acquiesce in the 
sacrifices which must be made literally, by everyone. I do 
not believe that there will be a single murmur, for amid the 
contradictions and confusions of conflicting diplomatic con- 
tentions, one thing stands out clearly, now and for all time, 
namely the magnificent and absolutely undaunted spirit of 
the entire German people. 

Clare Benedict. 

From the Richmond Crucible of April 3rd, 1915. 

8i 



Human Stories of Emperor Wilhelm 
II of Germany 

STORIES OF THE MAN WILHELM II 

To THE Editor of The Evening Post — Sir: A very 
human story about the German Emperor has just reached 
me, the authenticity of which is vouched for by an American 
friend of high standing, who is residing at present in Ger- 
many. This friend heard the tale from the brother of the 
officer who witnessed the incident. The story is as follows: 

During a recent visit of the Emperor William to a mili- 
tary hospital in Poland, he noticed that a screen had been 
drawn round one of the beds. He inquired the reason. 
"Your Majesty, a man is dying," was the reply. Whereupon 
the Emperor went in at once and kneeling down said a 
prayer, after which he rose and took the soldier in his arms 
and held him there until he died. The expression on the 
face of the private was very beautiful. His last words 
were: "It is a joy to die in the arms of my beloved Kaiser!" 
The Emperor then asked about the man's people, and wrote 
everything down, in order to communicate with them. 

The officer who accompanied the Kaiser told my informant 
that the Emperor was wearing himself out by just this 
sort of thing, and that he was looking very old and tired. 
So much for this latest story, which seems to me very 
characteristic and touching, the more so, perhaps, because 
it vividly recalls to my mind another story about the Em- 
peror William — so similar and yet so widely different! 

This earlier story was told to me immediately after the 
death of Queen Victoria by an English acquaintance, who 
had special opportunities for observation. When the old 
Queen lay dying at Osborne House, her last hours were 
disturbed by distressing discomfort and hallucinations. No 
one seemed to know what to do for her, until finally her 
grandson, the Emperor William, taking the initiative from 
which the Queen's children appeared to shrink, placed him- 
self beside his grandmother on the bed, and held her in his 
arms until she died. 

The Queen of England and the common soldier — an inter- 
esting parallel, as well as an eloquent testimony to the 
wide range of the Kaiser's sympathies. 

Clare Benedict. 

Lakewood, N. J., April 7. 

From the New York Evening Post of April 10th, 1915. 

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